Harry Potter and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
by Sivad Ttarp
Summary: In order to save his family, plus Neville, Harry must once more take to the field, this time to stop a dark lord unlike anything the magical world has ever seen from unlocking the power of an otherworldy lost city. My fourth and final hp sequel.
1. Chapter 1: Intruders In The Ministry

Chapter one: intruders in the Ministry

Rain poured from the stormy clouds that shadowed the Quidditch field. Yet it made no difference to the man. He sped through the air, pressing his broom to its maximum performance, seemingly unaffected by the violent winds, his colorful garb soaked through, plastered against his lean frame.

The man swooped past other players, from both the opposing team and his own. He rolled under a well-aimed bludger, and stretched forward. His fingers curled around a small, winged, golden ball. And then the whole sequence began again.

"Good game that," came a nonchalant comment. Samantha Core started, unintentionally slamming her head into the table.

Swearing, she turned around, pushing the auburn hair away from her eyes with her index finger. "What?"

Jarom shrugged, "Good game's all. You've been staring at it for the past twenty minutes, reckoned you thought the same.

"Yeah, I guess so. Just dozed off." Samantha looked back to the day's edition of the Daily Prophet spread out on the desk before her, laying open on the sports page. Self-consciously, she turned a few pages, and tried to focus on an article about reform in the Mexican magical government.

She checked the slim leather band on her wrist. Yes, it was officially yesterday's paper now, and had been for seventeen minutes. She yawned. Actually, she'd gotten used to the odd hours. She just wished the job wasn't so boring. This wasn't at all what she'd had in mind when she'd applied to become an auror.

She was certainly new to the job, having gradated from training less than six months previously. But security work didn't discriminate between age. Tonight, she was sharing her duties with two colleagues: Jarom, who was still young, but her senior by a few years and assignments, and Livingston, who was one of the office's senior members. He was currently the only one taking the job seriously, scrutinizing the sprawling map that represented the ministry of magic. Samantha could make out the three dots representing them; neatly labeled blots of magical ink, nestled in a small room nestled off of the main hall of the ministry's main floor.

If nothing else, she recognized that her assignment was important. After the events of some twenty years previously, when a sizable amount of dark wizards, including he-who-must-not-be-named himself, bypassed ministry security wards and entered the complex. They were mostly apprehended after a heated battle with the Order of the Phoenix, along with a handful of students; however, the incident caused great damage to both ministry property and to the morale of the magical community. The newly appointed Minister of Magic saw fit to impose an armed guard to be present at the offices at all times of day and night.

But still, Samantha hadn't undergone four years of grueling training to sit at a desk and wait for an infiltration that would never occur. She had expected more travel, more adventure, more risk, and, frankly, to be doing something more important. She wanted to be like Harry Potter, for heaven's sake, not some desk jockey. She had twice briefly met the head of the reformed auror office. Harry was not only famous, more recognizable even than the Minister of Magic himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt. He was good, the best, at what he did. He hadn't worked in the field much recently, but that was understandable. He had a family now, and, while still perfectly capable, wasn't as young as he had once been. Some had called his methods in his younger days as unorthodox, and even random and unplanned, yet even the critics couldn't argue with his track record. Both as an auror, and even back as a student. If there was one thing Harry had proved over the past years, he certainly had the luck of the devil.

"Merlin's beard!" Livingston exclaimed. "We've got a reading, a real reading. There's intruders in the ministry," he continued, as Jarom and Samantha crowded to him. He was right, new; black, unlabeled splotches had appeared in the main hall.

Jarom grinned, despite the situation. He clapped Samantha on the back, "It looks like its time to actually do our job."

The three exited and disgruntled auror's spilled out into the main hall. However, there was no crowd of hostile delinquents, as expected, but the main hall was fairly empty. The long marble hall, lined with granite fireplaces, seemed deserted.

Except for one. At the end of the hall, opposite the elevators, there was a man. His back was too them, and his clothing was black and simple: dark long-sleeved shirt, stretched by the impressive muscles beneath, black trousers, and black boots. He stood before the onyx memorial, the wall with the names of those many dead from the Second War inscribed, his head bowed, an almost penitent look about him.

"Excuse me sir," said Jarom loudly, taking the lead. "The Ministry offices are closed, unless to certain authorized individuals."

The man turned slowly, "My apologies," he said in a deep Russian accent. "I was not aware."

His face was shrouded in shadow even as he turned to face them, but Samantha immediately saw the wand in his grip. She screamed, but it as already too late. There was a flash of green light and Jarom collapsed. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Livingston was quicker to react, sending a powerful impending jinx racing toward the man who had just murdered, Jarom. The man knocked the spell aside easily, striding foreward. As he did so, the other intruders made themselves seen. Dark-clad men and women melted out of the shadows, joining the man. Jets of green light shot from the group, and collided with the older man. Livingston was thrown into the air, a limp corpse.

But Samantha was already running. A spell shot past her shoulder, and collided with the wall, severely damaging one of the stone fireplaces. She sprinted toward the elevator, and threw herself inside. The metal doors clanged shut behind her, as if sensing her urgency. Another curse slammed into the shut doors, bending the metal inward, but not penetrating the elevator.

As the elevator dropped downward, Samantha slumped back against the wall and slowly slid the floor, her wand in her lap. This was what she had wanted, so ignorantly. A full-scale infiltration. Two Aurors dead, an indeterminate amount of dark wizards within the Ministry. She had ran, but there was nothing she could have done, not against so many. She had to get help, the auror office, the whole Ministry, she needed to notify them. Samantha tried to slow her breathing, calm herself, it wasn't over yet, she could still do her part.

There was a chime, and the metal grill before her slid open.

And there was the Russian. Staring straight into her eyes, behind him the main hall, just as she had left it a moment before. Somehow, he had manipulated the elevator, bringing it right back where he wanted. She remained motionless; there was nothing she could do.

"_Avada Kedevra!" _

Russian watched the girl before him jerk, as her nerves were destroyed by the magic, then slump even further, dead. As an afterthought, he brought his boot down on her head; there was a satisfying crunch as her skull ruptured.

The Russian turned back to face his unit. "The ground floor is secure," he said with a smile.

The unit took the stairs. Simpler, and safer. Their leader had himself demonstrated how easy the elevator system could be manipulated. The met know further resistance, and thereby made it quickly to their destination.

The corridor was formed from the same black stone as the entry hall, though not nearly as wide. After making sure the situation was secure, placing two guards at the end of the corridor, the Russian motioned for the trunk to be set down. Balanced between two of the men, it was featureless and made from smooth black wood. Due to the amount of locks, seven, it could be discerned that this was an 'impossible safe', as it was sometimes called. More inside than muggle laws of physics would suggest.

The man nodded, and the men set to work. He tossed them a key, which was easily fitted into the seventh lock. It was turned, and there was a click as the trunk slid open.

The men reached inside, and hauled out a rumpled man, dumping him on the floor. The man stirred, groaning. He was dressed very shabbily, and his gray hair was in disarray. The Russian nudged him onto his back with a single boot. He scrutinized the man's face. Swollen, stubbled, but over all whole. Not the one.

The men resumed, they reached into the trunk, and removed a second man. He was treated less gently, hurled into the wall. He bounced off and fell to his knees. As the man stood unsteadily, leaning on the wall for support. One of the dark wizards tossed a small object at his feet. The man bent over and picked up the pair of round wire-rimmed glasses, and with an impressive amount of defiance, slid them onto his own face. He pushed an unruly strand of dark hair from his green eyes; upon his foreward was a thin red scar in the shape of a bolt of lightning.

"If you all surrender," said Harry Potter. "I promise to be sympathetic. It'd just be a lot easier for all of us."

"What...what's up," slurred the older man, also getting to his feet.

"I think we've been kidnapped, per say."

"Happens to you all the time, I expect," sighed Mundungus Fletcher.

"Yeah, it does."

The Russian man stepped foreward to Harry, no trace of amusement on his face. Harry examined him. He was big, if nothing else. Fit, but broad and tall, visibly muscled. The man was a powerhouse. His hair was shaved closely, and his face looked as though it was carved from stone. The most lively part of it was his cold blue eyes, which were sizing up Harry in turn. They came away less than impressed.

Harry wondered how exactly he had reached this situation. He recognized the lower levels of the Ministry of Magic, yet the last thing he remembered he had been in Cardiff attending a celebratory dinner, commemorating some magical, historical event, he didn't remember, he never had cared for history of magic as a subject. Blame it on the teacher.

He had been abducted, that much was sure. And despite his confident appearance, Harry felt far less than his best. He remembered Mundungus as being there also; palming the silverware, but that didn't explain why he had also been taken.

"So sorry if I sound uninformed," he began, "But what exactly are we doing here."

The Russian answered him, slowly. "We wish for you to assist us in the recovery of an exceedingly valuable object."

"I've heard that one before, and I've learned my lesson. If you want my help, kidnapping me and stuffing me in a truck isn't the way to do it. The answer is no, plain and simple."

The Russian said nothing, he simply punched. Harry had not been expecting the blow, but managed to roll slightly as the man's fist collided with his jaw. He managed to remain standing, but he felt his teeth severely loosened. He had felt the power behind the punch was restrained as well, the man could have taken the head of his shoulders had he wanted to.

Harry coughed, trying to ignore the darkening bruise, "I don't see how harming me would help you get what you want," he mumbled, "just saying."

"Correct," the man nodded. "That was just for fun. Miss Gen?"

Harry knew what was happening before he turned. Mundungus was on the floor, writhing, screaming shrilly. One of the dark wizards, a hard-faced woman, was pointing her wand at him, unmoving.

"Funny thing," said the Russian. "The cruciatus curse. It's usually classified as preferable to the killing variety. However, if applied correctly, it can permanently destroy the victim's mind. A fate worse than death, some would say."

Harry looked away, but he couldn't shut the screams. These people wanted him, not Mundungus. They would have no qualms about killing the man. Meanwhile, Mundungus wouldn't be here if not for Harry, so it would, by default, be his fault.

"Okay, okay, I'll do what I can," Harry sighed. Immediately, the screaming stopped. Panting for breath, Mundungus got to his feet.

"Thanks mate," the smaller man mumbled, before collapsing. Harry caught him, supporting him.

"Dovchenko!" came a voice, a woman, from farther down the corridor, revealing the Russian's name. "You must treat our guests well, they are the key to our ends."

A few more dark wizards came down the corridor to join those already gathered. Making it a group of about fifty. And with them came the girl.

She was the one who had called Dovchenko, the one who, by his reaction, seemed the true leader of the group. Not only that, but there was something about her that just felt wrong, twisted, incorrect, like she shouldn't have existed at all.

That said, she was rather striking. She was slim and tall, about Harry's height. She dressed identically to the others, though the black clothing was more apparent against her incredibly pale skin. Her black hair was straight and cropped neatly about her shoulders. Framing a face that was unblemished and smooth, given an almost elven quality by high cheekbones. Her eyes were green however. Jade, nearly the same color as Harry's own. But by far the most startling thing about her was her youth. While certainly mature, the girl couldn't have been older than eighteen.

She walked to him. She seemed almost to glide, poised with a grace he had never seen before in a witch. "Harry Potter" she said quietly, stopping only when they were a few inches apart. Her accent was odd; mild, but not one he recognized.

She brought her hand up, and touched his scar, tracing it with her finger. He practically expected it to burn, as it had in the past, when in the presence of Voldemort, but he felt quite the opposite, and an intense cold jetted throughout his spin.

"The boy who lived. The savior of the magical realm. The chosen one." Somehow, the terms often used to refer to him in honor sounded the vilest of insults slipping from her lips.

"Do I know you?" he whispered, and the moment was shattered.

"No, you don't," she said, stepping away. "But you knew my mother."

Then, to the dark wizards, "Let's move in, we need to find the correct chamber. Time is wasting, and daylight is approaching. Perhaps you could have been a bit less…cinematic. Imagine if one of the corpses upstairs had managed to alert the authorities."

Harry was seized roughly from behind. He and Mundungus were forced down the corridor, moving with the group of dark wizards.

"Wait," he shouted, "Who are you."

The girl glanced back, "Many things," she answered. "But my name is Natasha Lestrange."


	2. Chapter 2: The Box

Chapter two: the box

Harry didn't resist as he and Mundungus were roughly escorted down the corridor, after the odd girl, at the head of the group. Obviously their leader, despite being the youngest one present. There was no chance against so many, not without his wand. Maybe if he were alone he would have taken more initiative, but with Mundungus to protect too…

His mind reeled, a maelstrom of thoughts and confusion. Natasha Lestrange. Bellatrix Lestrange. That was the only possible connection. How could they have been related? Was this girl Bellatrix's cousin? Niece? Daughter? Harry had never heard of Bellatrix having any children, but he supposed it was possible. And it could be reason for her to want revenge on him, for her mother's death.

But if Natasha was Bellatrix's daughter, that made the situation that much worse. Bellatrix had been mad, evil, a murderer. She had killed Sirius Black, Harry's closest thing to a father. She had been strictly loyal to Lord Voldemort, his favorite servant. She had stayed with him until the end, though she had finally been slain at the battle of the Hogwarts, by Harry's later mother-in-law. She was gone, and she was a person Harry would rather forget. Of all the Death Eater's he had known, Malfoy senior, Dietrich, Toht, Vogol, Greyback; Bellatrix was the worst. If this girl was in fact her daughter, and if she was half the woman her mother had been, magical society was in great danger. And the fact that she was surrounded by ruthless followers, who had infiltrated the Ministry of Magic without breaking a sweat, was in no wise encouraging.

The door at the end of the corridor was all too familiar to Harry. Twenty years ago, it had haunted his dreams constantly. The entrance to the Department of Mysteries. It was where he had first met Bellatrix, where his godfather had been killed. He wondered if the girl before him knew this.

The door placed no resistance to the Death Eaters. That's what they were, Harry realized, Death Eaters, disciples of the Dark Lord. Twice before he had thought them exterminated and proved wrong. It seemed as though Voldemort, though finally dead, lived on through them. Either way, the door was easily blown of its hinges. The group proceeded in.

The room inside was familiar as well. A circular room, lined with dozens of doors, illuminated subtly by scores of floating blue candles. After a moment's consideration, Natasha went to one of the identical doors. It opened easily, especially after Dovchenko blasted it to bits. Harry and Mundungus were bustled inside, and joined by the Death Eaters.

Harry only been inside the Department of Mysteries once before, but felt he had explored a sizable amount of it, including the room filled with hundreds upon hundreds of glass orbs, containing prophecies, and the mysterious curtained arch that was supposedly a portal between life and death. But he had never been in this particular area, and it took his breath away.

They were standing within a massive warehouse. Rows and rows of wooden crates were stacked neatly, extending into the distance, and stretching up to the ceiling above. The floor was of black stone, and strips of luminescent metal extending across the ceiling lighted the room.

"Welcome to the warehouse section," said Natasha, Harry felt it was for his benefit. "A collection of magical artifacts, weapons and powerful memorabilia. Items the Ministry has filed away and forgotten. Nothing will be missed, but finding what you want is the equivalent of searching for a needle in a haystack."

The men let go of Harry, pushing him foreward until he faced Natasha. "What do you want me for?" he said, "Looks like you're in pretty good shape."

She smiled, coldly; it reminded him of someone, but not Bellatrix. "I want to kill you, Mr. Potter. It's as simple as that. However, I also seek something a great deal more valuable and worthwhile. A rectangular storage container, two meters by one meter, by two hundred centimeters. The contents are highly magnetized. You should remember it, no?"

"No. What is it, a weapon?"

"Perhaps, but currently it is a corpse."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," said Harry truthfully.

"That's very odd, considering that you studied and classified it under the strictest confidentially."

"I'm not lying, I really don't know." Harry wracked his brain, but he could not remember anything meeting those specifications. He was glad not to offer any assistance to the Death Eaters, however this was offset by the fact that it made his life meaningless to them.

"Fair enough," she said, her face free of any trace of annoyance, "there are easier ways."

Dovchenko came foreward. He removed his wand, and aimed it directly between Harry's eyes. Harry considered running, or attacking, but he was surrounded. There was nothing he could do anyway.

"_Legilimens."_

The memories rushed past Harry's eyes, washing him away. He tried to resist, to close his mind, as he had been taught, but he was swept away by the remnants of his life's story.

_ Harry was six years old, trying to avoid Dudley's plastic sword- He was holding a heavy letter addressed to him, upon it the seal of Hogwarts school- He was in the Chamber of Secrets, sprinting away from the massive feathered basilisk, as the memory of Tom Riddle laughed, eking the beast on- He was squashed in a compartment of the Hogwarts express, as a dark robed figure opened the door with a skeletal hand- He was tied to a gravestone, watching the wasted inhuman body of Lord Voldemort rise whole from a steaming cauldron- He watching Bellatrix and Sirius duel, the woman kicked out, laughing, knocking Sirius back through the misty curtain- He was huddled next to a delirious Albus Dumbledore, as water-logged corpses crawled from the black lake around them- He stood, calmly, as Voldemort raised his wand, uttering the killing curse- He was in the Auror office, applying to begin training- He was watching the sunlight amplified through the headpiece of the staff of Ra, a stream of light falling across the model Tanis- He was clinging to a shaking rope bridge as it slammed into the side of the canyon, the screams of falling men echoing in his ears- He was aboard a massive tank, barreling through the desert sand, fighting for his life- He was before the alter, across from Ginny Weasley, never more beautiful- He was excepting leadership of the auror office- He was holding Ginny's hand, in her arms a sleeping baby boy, James- Then Albus- Then Lily- Watching his firstborn depart of the Hogwarts express- and then he was there, in Cardiff, attacked, bundled into the trunk of a car-_

And then Harry was kneeling on the stone floor, covered in a cold sweat. It took him a moment to realize he was back in the Department of Mysteries. "He is telling the truth," said Dovchenko, replacing his wand. "He remembers nothing. I suspect a memory modification. I may be able to usurp it, but not without significant damage to his mind."

"Don't then," she sighed, "not yet, at least."

Natasha began to pace, head downcast, obviously thinking. The Death Eaters and, in turn, Harry watched her intently. "There's nothing distinguishing about the crate," she murmured, thinking aloud. "It looks like every other crate in the warehouse. But, it's magnetic. Yes, that's it."

Natasha reached into her jacket and when her hand emerged, it was clutching a small automatic pistol. She had obviously been wearing a shoulder holster beneath the jacket; Harry cursed himself for not noticing. But, even stranger, why did she have one in the first place?

Unsurprisingly, Natasha answered none of these questions. She ejected a handful of bullets from the gun, and made a small pile on the floor. "Hammer." She ordered.

Dovchenko seemed just as confused as Harry, but he immediately conjured a hammer of silvery metal, and handed it to the girl. She brought it down on the bullets, the clang echoing throughout the empty space. As the bullets ruptured, black powder spilled out.

Natasha took a handful of the black powder, and threw it up into the air. And that was when Harry realized what she was doing. The powder hung in the air for a moment, and then, pulled by an invisible force, straightened into a long line, pulled down a nearby aisle.

The Death Eaters wasted no time; the group ran through the maze of crates, following the floating gunpowder, attracted by the crates magnetism. They halted as the cloud thickened along a wide stretch of crates.

"Which one?" Mundungus coughed, startling Harry. He had nearly forgotten about the other man. Natasha stood thinking for a moment, and then rummaged in the cargo packet of her seemly tight trousers. She removed a shotgun cartridge, and wasted no time in tearing it open with her teeth. The pellets of shot poured out, and rolled across the floor, toward the wall of crates. Harry watched in disbelief as the shot, increasing speed, rolled up the wall to coalesce around a single crate, rummaging inside through the cracks between the slats.

"That one," Natasha whispered, allowing herself a small smile. Harry couldn't help but feel slightly impressed. Dovchenko and another Death Eater pulled the crate out, careful not to disturb the others. They set it gently on the floor before Natasha.

Dovchenko, with a nod of approval from Natasha, tore the lid off the crate with his bare hands. Inside, nestled within a sea of Styrofoam peanuts, was another box, this one made of solid steel. It glinted under the light, only slightly smaller than the crate.

_"Alahamorha."_

With a word from Dovchenko, the box slid open. Inside was a figure, mummified in black rubber. It was humanoid, but in no means human. It was five feet tall, and slim. Its limbs, especially its arms, were unnaturally long. Its head was large, and oddly shaped. Harry's only thought was that it must be some type of extinct magical creature, one he had never heard of, let alone come across.

Natasha knelt over the body, producing a switchblade from her boot. She snapped it open, and made a careful, almost surgical, cut across the thing's head, slicing through the rubber wrapping. Harry was to far away to see properly as she peeled back the covering, but caught a glimpse of pale gray flesh.

She stood, satisfied, closing the container. "This is it," she said, quetely. Two Death Eaters lifted the box out of the remnants of the crate, to transport it easier.

"Well, Potter," she said, closing the switchblade with a flick of her wrist. "You have ceased to be useful to us, not that you ever began."

Harry realized that he couldn't wait any longer, it he wanted to stop these people from escaping with their unidentified spoils, it was time to start winging it. At least that was something he was good at.

There were two men next to him, guarding him. And Harry was moving, slamming his elbow into the gut of the man on the left. As the man doubled over, he turned his attention to the man on the right. He seized the man's wand as he jabbed his fist into the man's throat. He swept the Death Eater's legs out from under him, and then spun, backhanding his first captor, sending the man spinning away.

With a flick of Harry's wand, Dovchenko's own wand went flying from his grip, and into Mundungus's hands. Harry then aimed his newfound weapon at Natasha's chest. The whole action had taken place in less than a minute.

"Nobody move. Wait, on second thought, put down your wands. Or the girl is dead."

Natasha blinked. And then she began to laugh. "You are everything the tabloids make you to be," she snorted. "Though you may want to look to your left."

Harry did so, a sinking feeling in his stomach. A few feet away, the tip of Dovchenko's wand was leveled at his temple. Held in the grip of Mundungus Fletcher.

"Dung…" Harry began, half question, half protest.

Mundungus flashed him a sad smile. "Sorry mate. Money's money, doesn't matter where it comes from."


	3. Chapter 3: Last Words

Chapter three: last words

"The order never did appreciate me, my talents," Mundungus continued. "Had a run of bad luck, since the whole Ministry reform. No more room for people like me. But that's going to change."

Harry said nothing; he slowly lowered his wand to his side. The Death Eaters closed in, aiming at him. Other than Natasha, who had barely moved throughout the whole sequence.

"So, Harry Potter. Any last words, something to be remembered by?" she said.

"I solemnly swear I am up to no good," Harry said, giving her a winning smile.

"Drop your wand," Dovchenko ordered, too late. Harry complied, but as he threw it, a jet of energy blasted from the wand. It slammed into the leg of a Death Eater, whose clothing immediately burst into flames.

As the group of dark wizards dissolved into chaos, Harry made his move. He ran, shoving Mundungus out of the way. Harry took a running leap at the wall of crates, and began to climb. The stack was sturdy, and there were plenty of handholds, he quickly made it to the top of the row. Hoisting himself atop the row, he set off at a run.

Looking over the warehouse below, Harry saw the Death Eater's spreading out; they weren't going to let him escape easily. Just like always. His gaze focused on Natasha. She and two Death Eaters were walking briskly toward the exit. Levitated by the two Death Eaters, the metal box floated along with them. Harry couldn't let them leave with it.

A spell shot past Harry. Another collided with the crate below him, showering him with splinters of wood. Harry started to run, sprinting along the row of crates. Curses shot past, and he pushed himself all the further. His lungs burned, but he forced down the urge to stop. If he stopped, he was dead.

Ahead, there was a gap between the rows, a length of ten feet. Harry ran toward it, not stopping. Unthinking, trying not to judge the distance, he reached the end of the row, and leapt. As he kicked off, the crate below him shattered, destroyed by a powerful jinx.

He soared through the air, his fingers brushed the wood of the next row, and then he was falling. As he plummeted, Harry scrabbled at the wall of crates, managing to slow himself. He slammed into the ground, landing in a crouch. Nevertheless, he felt the impact all the way up his spine.

He realized he had landed between two Death Eaters, who stared at him, awestruck. Harry wasted no time. He elbowed one of them under the chin, pulling the wand from the man's grip. He punched the second in the jaw, and darting away, stunned both of them.

He was back on the floor, but he had a wand, Harry felt much more optimistic. Harry ran down the aisle, ahead of him beckoned the box, levitated between the two Death Eaters.

"_Petrificus Totalus!"_

The spell hit one of the Death Eaters in the back, immobilizing him where he stood. Harry aimed a stunning spell at the other Death Eater, who blocked it, easily.

Suddenly, Harry felt a sharp pain in his shoulder, he screamed in pain. Sticking out of his arm was the switchblade, Natasha must have thrown it. The knife was deeply buried, blood soaking into his sleeve. Harry yanked it out, wincing. Now he was angry.

_"Flipendo!" _

The spell hit Natasha in the chest, and lifted her off her feet, the girl slammed into the row of crates. Harry sidestepped a curse from the remaining Death Eater.

_"Incarcerous!" _

The Death Eater fell, entwined with black strong ropes. Harry seized the box and, with it floating in front of him, ran down the aisle.

Another group of Death Eaters came around the corner, charging straight toward him. There were at least twenty of them, more than Harry could possibly fight off. With a sigh, he muttered another spell.

_"Depulso!"_

The box shot forward, barreling through the group of Death Eaters, knocking three of them over, before ramming into the wall of crates. A box had shattered, and through the broken boards Harry saw a glint of gold. A container topped with small, carved angels…

The Ark of the Covenant. The same that had led Harry on a hunt across the world and nearly cost him his life. Dietrich, Malfoy, and Ginny. The Ministry had taken it, claiming it would be studied. So this was where it had ended up after all these years.

Harry was jolted out of his memories as he realized that the row the box had slammed into was now teetering. It seemed to tip in slow motion, the boxes on top falling first, crates exploding to the ground.

Harry ran. Past the Ark, past the box, past the Death Eaters. He slipped out of the aisle into open space, just as it collapsed entirely, burying everything, and everyone, within under tons of debris. Harry looked back to see that not only the single row, but half the warehouse had been buried in a domino effect.

And before him was the exit from the room, inviting him. There were no more Death Eater's popping up, attacking him. He was home free.

Harry charged through the room with the blue candles finding the way out was much easier, as the door out had been destroyed, setting it apart form the others. He rushed down the corridor, and into the staircase.

Harry hurried up the stairs, pacing himself. He had a few flights to go, and couldn't be battling his own exhaustion as well. Now that he was no longer in immediate danger, the pain in his arm set in. he had received plenty of bruises and scrapes in the fight, but the worst by far was when Natasha's knife had embedded itself in his bicep. He held the wound tightly, trying to slow the bleeding, as blood soaked into his shirt. Still, by the time he stumbled out into the main hall, he was light-headed and reeling. He needed to make it to a healer before he lost more blood.

As Harry walked toward the exit, skirting the bodies of two murdered Aurors, there came a soft chime from behind him. He turned to see the metal grill of the elevator slide open. Out stepped Dovchenko, his face a mask of anger. Harry began to regret snatching the Death Eater's wand.

_"Langlock!" _

The spell hit Harry with no obvious effect. Harry brought his wand about, planning to let lose with a powerful stunner, but found himself unable to speak. His tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. He vaguely remembered the spell Dovchenko had used as one of those novelty spells invented by the Half-Blood Prince. But in a duel, it could be deadly.

_"Crucio!"_

The torture charm hit Harry full on. He fell to his knees, trying not to cry out. Instead, as the charm cut off, the intense pain retreating from his body, he was ready, charging at the Death Eater.

Dovchenko looked surprised, but retaliated quickly. Harry was thrown of his feet and slammed into the wall. Held in place by invisible arms. Pressed against the wall. The same invisible force, curled around his thought, closing his windpipe. Harry struggled for breath, the air in his lungs rapidly depleted. He fought against the invisible force that held him in its grip, vaguely aware of the Death Eater approaching, a bemused expression on his rock-like face.

Suddenly, a jet of pure white energy blasted from the tip of Harry's wand. It slammed into Dovchenko, and the larger man was thrown across the hall, smashing into the floor twenty yards away.

The invisible force released Harry, and he fell to the floor, gasping for air. It was not the first time this had happened, performing magic subconsciously. It had saved his life in Pankot Palace…and killed his would-be assassin.

As Dovchenko groaned, ensuring Harry that he had not killed the man, Harry ran across to the fireplace. From a bowl atop it, he seized a handful of green powder, and hurled it into the hearth.

The fireplace erupted into green flames. But Harry looked back to see Dovchenko charging directly at him. Harry shouted the first spell to come into his head.

_"Aguamenti!"_

A blast of water hit Dovchenko in the face, filling his eyes and mouth. As the Death Eater spluttered, Harry stumbled backward into the fireplace, and was swallowed in a whirl of green flame and ash.

Harry spun through the sea of green, half formed images and noise, and as it all rushed by, his consciousness slipped away.

"Natasha. Miss Lestrange. Wake up."

Natasha came to with a groan, her chest ached where the spell had hit her, and the room above her seemed to spin. She was laying on her back on the stone floor, strewn around her the wreckage of a hundred wooden crates. Beside her knelt Mundungus Fletcher, his face worried.

"Are you all right?" he questioned, worriedly.

"No," she mumbled, "I just lost my favorite knife." Natasha felt her forehead gingerly, her hand came away sticky with blood.

Mundungus raised his wand, "If you want, I can…"

She shook her head, waving his wand away. "No, I'll be fine, just a scratch."

She got to her feet easily enough, at least nothing was broken. "Where's Potter?" she questioned.

"Gone," said Mundungus. "He brought the place down, and ran out. Mr. Dovchenko went after him, though. Should catch him."

Natasha stopped listening; she had seen something that caught her interest. She kicked away some debris from the ruined crates, to reveal a sword. She knelt and picked it up. It was a beautiful piece, definitely goblin make. It was a broadsword, its blade polished steel, spelled so that it would never dull. The hilt was silvery, with a multi-faceted ruby set into it. She swung it a few times, slicing through the air, perfectly balanced as well. Not only seemly, but an effective weapon as well.

Natasha slid the sword of Godric Gryffindor into her belt. "We should get out of here as soon as possible, before the authorities arrive in force. Gather the Death Eaters, find the box, it's got to be somewhere in this wreckage. If anyone's dead, leave them. If anyone's dying, quicken the process. We can't afford to leave behind any witnesses."


	4. Chapter 4: Boomtown

Chapter four: boomtown

When Harry Potter awoke, he was laying on his side in the darkness. His cheek rested on rough stone. His head ached, and there was a dull throbbing in his arm. He felt at the wound. It had scabbed over, but the cut was deep, and would likely become infected. Harry's expertise did not include healing, and all but the most basic scratches and bruises were beyond his ability.

Harry felt about in the darkness, and found his glasses. He slid them on, but it did little good, as it was still completely dark. He sat up, and his fingers closed around his stolen wand. He still preferred his own, but that had been taken by the Death Eaters. At least he was armed.

"_Lumos."_

The green light from the wands tip illuminated a low-ceilinged cave of rough stone. The cave was not deserted. The floor was littered with broken beer bottles and cigarette butts. In the center of the floor a blackened ring of stones outlined what had once been a fire pit. That must have been his way out. Harry was surprised, he had never heard of anyone connecting a fire pit to the floo network before. But apparently, someone had, and it had never been disconnected. By chance, this was the portal he had fallen out of, after leaving the Ministry behind.

He cast his eyes around, but saw no spare floo powder lying around. It seemed he would have to make the best of his surroundings. Harry got up to leave, ducking under the low ceiling. He heard a crunch as he stepped on a pack of crisps. Finding it half full, he drained the contents in a few mouthfuls.

The cave was not deeply set into the mountainside, and ten minutes later Harry emerged, blinking under the sun's glare. The chips had only reminded him of how hungry he should be. He hadn't eaten otherwise since before he had been abducted. The Death Eaters, Harry was reminded. He had to get to Ministry, or someone else. Tell them what had happened.

Harry had emerged at the base of a rocky hillside, a small cliff. The ground was dry, gravel and sand, and the air hot. In the distance he saw a sprawling mass, a town.

Harry needed food and water. He needed rest and care. This seemed a good enough place as any, considering he had no idea where he was.

The town was closer than Harry realized. It didn't take him too long until he was stumbling into its suburbs. It seemed a simple muggle community, middle-class housing, a fast food restaurant, cars parked at the curbs. Except for one thing. It was entirely deserted.

Harry walked up the driveway of a random house. There was a minivan in the driveway, next to a bicycle. Harry passed this to an immaculate porch. There were too plastic chairs on the porch, looking out over an immaculate lawn.

Harry rapped sharply on the door. Then, remembering muggle customs, he pressed the small plastic button beside the door. A chime rang from within the house. Harry waited, but no one came to the door. He made to knock on last time, but the door slid open under his touch.

Harry peered inside, then stepped forward. He was in a sitting room with a couch, coffee table, and bouquet of flowers. Very clean, very impersonal, very American. Except for the fact that the magazines were in French. "Hello," he said carefully. "I don't mean to be a bother. I just need some help, can I use your phone, or something, I guess."

There was no answer, but Harry realized peppy music was issuing from farther inside the house. Fighting down the urge to bolt, Harry slowly passed through an orderly kitchen into a TV room. A family of four was seated in front of a modest television set. While it was currently displaying commercials, they seemed captivated, unmoving. Typical muggles.

"Excuse me," said Harry, but there was still no response. He approached the family cautiously. He tapped the father on the shoulder, and screamed as the man's head came of his shoulders, rolling away under the couch. The people were fake, nothing more than elaborate mannequins.

Harry back into the kitchen. He seized the phone on the counter from its mount, but when pressed to his ear, he heard nothing. There was no connection.

"Don't you understand," came a voice from the TV room, some movie trailer probably. "Nothing here is real."

Fear gnawed at Harry's stomach. He had no idea what he had stumbled onto, only that it felt wrong. He hurried out of the house, tripped over the stoop, and tumbled onto the lawn. The grass was real at least.

Getting to his feet, Harry scanned his surroundings. The town was in a bowl of a valley, isolated, the roads leading out of town going nowhere. His eyes were drawn to the top of the mountains. There, nestled between the crags, supported by steel pylons, was a spotless metal canister.

Suddenly an omnipotent voice, an intercom, encompassed the town. Its words were entirely in French, but Harry understood their meaning. The countdown had been initiated. The clock was ticking. How long did he have. Five minutes? Ten? One?

Harry needed to leave. He took out the wand, pressed himself, intending to apperate himself away. But he was unable to focus, he was too far away from locations he could picture, and he didn't have the strength. Apperating worked best when one was calm. He wasn't.

The French voice rang out again. This time it didn't stop. It was counting down, Harry knew enough French to realize he had only a minute. He had to get out of here.

The cave. The way he had arrived in the first place. He had no chance of making it there in time. Whether he ran or commandeered a car. But maybe, if he had enough strength…

With a pop, Harry disappeared. As the dizziness of transfer faded, he was in the cave once again. He had less than thirty seconds, and no floo powder.

What had happened back in the Ministry with Dovchenko? He had been scared, he had been dying. Well, that much was the same. Harry closed his eyes. He tried to call up a feeling of desperation, of panic. He had no way out, he was going to die. He would never again see Ginny, Ron, Hermione, the kids.

When Harry opened his eyes he was worried that nothing had happened. And the fireplace burst into flames. Green light reflecting off his surroundings. As the countdown reached the lower numbers, Harry wasted no time in time in leaping into the flames, washed away into the floo network.

As the world exploded behind him, Harry shouted the name of the first location that popped into his head. A place he subconsciously connected with happiness and safety.

"Hogwarts."

As the green flames retreated, Harry stumbled out into a redly decorated room he vaguely recognized as Gryffindor house common room. There were few people there at this time of day, but all of them screamed. He realized he must look quite a sight, covered in dried blood and sweat and ash. And then he was on the ground, and Harry once again lapsed into unconsciousness.

Harry Potter was not at all what Natasha Lestrange had expected. She had been curious, of course, of what Lord Voldemort's killer would be like, and she had been both impressed and disappointed. At first, Potter seemed very ordinary, too ordinary. And then he had changed, not transforming, but becoming a dangerous, powerful, and clever wizard. A force to be reckoned with, not unlike herself. Though Dovchenko had been overall unharmed from their duel, he had recounted Harry as being a very unpredictable individual, if nothing else.

And Harry had escaped, that was the worst part. No one was supposed to have escaped. No witnesses. No one to know what they had taken, no one to know what they had taken. No one to know who she was, what she was.

Natasha sighed. She took one look back at the unremarkable building that held the hidden offices of the Ministry. The Aurors would arrive in force. She needed to be gone.

Potter was a loose end. One that could work to her advantage. She had realized and had tried to utilize Potter's greatest weakness. He cared about others, and she had tried to use this with Fletcher, but the fool had blown his cover. Though still useful, Mundungus could not be trusted. He would need to be dealt with in good time. However, Potter was the priority. Or, she reminded herself, his family was.

Harry had seen her, he knew about her. And therefore, she had to predict that before long the whole ministry would know what had happened here. At least she could give them something to contemplate in the coming dispensation.

"Give them a sign," she said to Dovchenko, as she slid into the backseat of the car. He nodded, and before slipping in beside her, sent a jet of light blasting upward from his wand.

The light soared high over London, and unfolded into a sickly green cloud. It took the shape of a leering skull, a rearing serpent twisting from its mouth.

The Death Eater's were back.


	5. Chapter 5: Back To School

Chapter five: back to school

"Mr. Potter," the curt greeting addressed Harry as soon as he opened his eyes. "I must say I thought that I had seen you in these surroundings for the last time." A neat older woman in a green robe and spectacles swam into view. Minerva McGonagoll, headmistress of Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry.

Harry was lying on his back in a bed, in a room filled with similar, yet empty, beds. It had been some time since he had been here, but there was no mistaking the hospital wing. He had spent more nights than he would have liked here during his school days. Harry unconsciously reached for his arm, where Natasha's blade had penetrated his flesh, but there was nothing but clean skin. The same was true for his other injuries; Madame Pomfrey was a miracle worker. Assuming she even worked here anymore.

"You have raised quite a stir, Mr. Potter, not unlike old times," said McGonagoll, not unkindly. "Disappearing from that conference, and then turning up a week later, stumbling out of the floo network half-dead, stinking with muggle radiation, into the Gryffindor common room. Some would certainly say that explanations are in order, and I am among them."

Harry nodded; he realized that he needed to recount his story. Still, he didn't want to talk about it. All he wanted to do was forget the events of the last twenty-four hours, if it had even been twenty-four hours. He didn't want to think that the Death Eaters were back, that Mundungus was one of them. He didn't want to talk about the girl, Natasha, and he especially didn't want to recount whatever sort of technological proving ground he had stumbled into. As primitive as they could be, muggles came up with more ambitious ways to kill each other than wizards ever could.

"How long?" Harry mumbled. He took a glass of water from the bedside table, and drained it.

"Two days. Since you arrived."

Harry began to swear, and stopped himself, remembering who he was with. Two whole days. "Ginny," he mumbled.

"We have sent Mrs. Potter notification of your condition, but have yet to receive any response."

"That doesn't sound like her," Harry mumbled.

"Nevertheless," said McGonagoll. "I am not the only one curious to recent events. There are two men from the ministry outside. I'll bring them in, as long as you feel up to meeting them of course."

Harry didn't want to meet with them, but he felt entirely up to it. "Bring them in," he sighed.

McGonagoll left and returned a moment later with two men. Both were dressed in dark suits, and had neatly trimmed dark hair. They reminded Harry of the men who had taken over the Lost Ark situation, after he had recovered it. The taller was named Smith, the other was Taylor.

"Professor," said Smith to McGonagoll. "Could you let us speak to Mr. Potter in private? Ministry secrecy, and suchlike."

"No, I don't believe I could." Said McGonagoll, "This is my school he's stumbled into, and I have a right to hear him out." Harry felt a surge of affection for her. Smith looked unhappy, but did not argue.

Taylor shook hands with Harry, Smith didn't. He got right down to business. He produced a day old copy of the daily prophet from his coat and dropped it in front of Harry. Harry picked it up and scanned the front page. The photograph was of a massive cloud, writhing in the air above London. It was in the distinct shape of a skull, a serpent rearing out of its mouth.

"The Dark mark appearing over central London," Smith explained, though Harry was already skimming the article. "Its enough to cause mass hysteria within the wizarding community. And that's not even mentioning the muggles. There are far too many witnesses for a massive mind-wipe, and they can't make hide-nor-tail of it. Probably blame it on global warming or something.

"And that's not all," Smith continued. "Its not as if it was some punk kid pulling a prank. There is evidence to back up the theory that you-know-who's old followers were involved. A break in to the Ministry of magic, to the Department of Mysteries, no less. The last time that happened it was the beginning of the second war.

"Significant damage caused to Ministry property and grounds. We're still cleaning up the warehouse, cataloguing to see what, if anything is missing."

"I could tell you that," said Harry.

"And you will," said Smith, holding up a hand. "But I haven't finished. There was evidence of a fight in both the warehouse and the lobby. And there were seven dead. Three are registered Aurors, killed by the killing curse. Four are unidentified men and women, brought down by various causes. I have personally seen the bodies and they all have one thing in common. The Dark Mark, scarred into their forearm just like the enemy did during the second war."

"Basically," said Taylor, "We're wondering if you could help us understand what the hell happened."

Harry nodded, "Makes sense." It seemed they already knew much of the basics. The dark mark appearing over London was news to him, though he hadn't let it show. The last two times he had encountered the Death Eaters they'd been hiding, underground, secretly waiting for the opportune moment. These people seemed to have already found their opportune moment, and wanted the world to know it.

So Harry recounted his story, he left nothing out. Though he liked neither of the Ministry operatives, the Ministry needed to know what had happened, and he trusted McGonagoll.

"Well," said Taylor as he finished, "That seems to check out. Except for how you came to be in the Death Eater's custody in the first place."

"I told you," sighed Harry. "I was abducted, kidnapped, held against my will."

"Just like Mr. Fletcher," said Smith, piercingly.

"Mundungus was part of the Order of the Phoenix, I had no idea he would turn." Harry mumbled.

"I can vouch for Mr. Potter myself," said McGonagoll, who had remained silent during the conversation. "And think it is high time you answer some of his questions."

"He was there," Smith, growled, "He knows twice what we do."

"Actually," said Harry, "I was wondering who that girl was. She called herself Lestrange, like Bellatrix. Who was she, her niece?"

"We have no idea," Smith grunted.

"Natasha Lestrange," said Taylor, "is a legend. A myth among dark wizards. We've heard conflicting rumors and speculation, nothing more. It is fairly consistent that she is Bellatrix's daughter, however. There were even sources that believed that Bellatrix was pregnant at some time during the second war, which would make her the age of the girl you describe."

"What about her father," Harry asked, surprised he had not come across any of the so-called widespread rumors.

"We have no idea, conflicting accounts label him as anyone from Malfoy senior to the Devil himself. But what is sure is that she is made out as a powerful, almost messianic woman. To bring dark magic into a new reign, more reaching and lasting even than You-know-who's short-lived dispensation.

"Nobody we've spoken to has seen her, spoken to her, not first-hand. However, it seems to be wide spread belief that she is every bit her mothers daughter, the most notorious dark witch who ever lived. She is sought and spoken of with hope and fear, not unlike you, Mr. Potter." The last comment was said piercingly; as if Harry really had been the dark wizard the magical community had expected him to be. But Harry ignored it; he was too preoccupied with the information. And from what he'd seen, Natasha was her mother's daughter. From Harry's memories, without Voldemort, Bellatrix could have very well become the new dark lord, had she not been killed at the Battle of Hogwarts.

"What was in that steel box, the one they took?" he asked, phrasing his other question.

"Classified," said Smith, who glared at Taylor, obviously thinking the other man had said far too much about Natasha Lestrange.

"I know it's a body," Harry said quickly, "But what is it really. They acted like I should have seen it before, and said I had my memory modified. What's that about?"

Smith said nothing, looking away. Taylor also avoided Harry's gaze, but said softly. "We needed a second opinion, we didn't want another witness."

It slowly dawned on Harry, "You wiped my memory!"

"Modified, actually," said Smith.

"Still, what were you thinking? What can be that secret."

"The secrecy of the remains is very sensitive."

"Still, I mean, I'm Harry Potter. If the head of the auror office can't know about it-"

"Interestingly enough," Smith interrupted, "that brings us to our final order of business."

"The ministry on a whole," said Taylor, "has decided that it would be better, given the current situation and the sensitivity of the public, if you were temporarily relieved of your duties as head of the Auror office."

Harry said nothing, he couldn't think of anything to say. Heading up the auror office was difficult work, to be sure. But he was good at it, and he enjoyed it. And considering the current situation, he would need to be doing his best to find Lestrange, not sitting at home reading the prophet.

"I'm sure the situation will soon be stabilized," said Smith. "But until then, your relationship with Mundungus Fletcher casts suspicion upon you, even as far back as the second war."

"How can you question anything he did in the second war," McGonagoll exclaimed. "He killed Voldemort himself, for one thing."

"My thoughts exactly, Headmistress," came a new voice. All four of them turned to see the tall man striding toward them. He was black; his head shaved, and wore a red robe. Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic.

"Mr. Potter," said the Minister, joining them. "You're looking better, I see. Smith, Taylor." He shared a friendly handshake with both Harry and McGonagoll, ignoring the other two men.

"Mr. Potter, whatever these men have told you, I have rectified the situation. You will be appearing for work on Monday as usually, and will devote all your attentions to apprehending Natasha Lestrange and putting an end to her new Death Eaters."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, grinning.

"I apologize I can't stay," said the Minister, "I am required at a press release concerning the recent developments at the Ministry, as are Smith and Taylor required to return to investigation of the intrusion. I hope to see both of you again, Headmistress, Mr. Potter." And with that the Minister left, taking Smith and Taylor along with them. Neither of them looked pleased at being interrupted.

"Well, I suppose that's that," McGonagoll, sighed. "Good man, Kingsley. I expect there'll be hell to pay at the Ministry for this. Anyway, I doubt you want to stay here much longer. The Hogwarts express is leaving at four this afternoon, taking with it the students returning to London. You can be on it, if you wish."

"I think I will," sighed Harry. "But I'll rest here a little while longer."

"Alright," said McGonagoll, getting up to go. "Call for Madame Pomfrey if you need anything."

"I will," Harry lied, watching her leave. Within moments he was asleep.

Harry found himself once again in the warehouse portion of the Department of Mysteries. It was deserted, the stacks immaculate and ordered, as it had been before he had caused the domino effect.

Harry drifted down a series of rows, to find himself facing, in the middle of the aisle, the steel box. It slid open slowly, as he approached it. Inside was the inhuman body, as Harry had remembered it. His skin prickling, he reached out to touch its face.

At the brush of his fingers, the rubbery covering unraveled, falling away. Underneath was the face of Ginny Weasley. Her eyes closed, unbreathing. Dead, a serene expression on her face. Harry bent down over her, his lips brushing against hers. They were cold as metal.

Harry jerked away as the body before him changed again. He found himself inches away from Natasha Lestrange, a cruel smile on her face. Her long fingers curled around the back of his neck, and though she held him with only a single hand, he was unable to move, unable to cry out. Natasha laughed, a high cold laugh, not her own, but Voldemort's, as she slid her knife into his heart.

Harry woke up sweating, clutching at his chest. After a moment he realized he was still in the deserted hospitol wing. Judging by the sun through the window, it was nearly time to depart, if he wanted to catch the Hogwarts express. Despite the uneasy dream, which he found himself unable to quite remember, he felt well rested.

Harry washed his face, and dressed in the same clothes he had worn when he had appeared at Hogwarts, which had been laid out of him. He left the hospitol wing, bidding farewell to Madame Pomfrey, and her assistant, whom he had never seen before.

The castle was deserted, so Harry couldn't have asked for directions, even if he needed to, even so, he remembered the way out. Being at Hogwarts again brought back memories, good and bad. The castle had been his home for six years, some of the best years of his life. However, he had had anything but a normal youth. Even before Voldemort's return there had been the Chamber of Secrets, the Dementors, the Triwizard tournament.

As he walked through the grounds, toward the entrance to Hogsmeade, Harry realized why the castle was nearly empty. It was, coinciding with the beginning of the Easter holidays, a Hogsmeade outing.

As Harry walked briskly through the streets of the wizarding town, which was quite as he remembered it, Harry glimpsed students from all four houses. Shopping, eating, laughing, just as he had all those years ago.

Harry boarded the red steam engine just as it was blowing its final whistle. The Hogwarts express was plenty full, and he felt a bit awkward about being the only noticeable adult aboard. Harry leaned against the wall beside the window. He sighed; it would be good to be back home, back with family.

"Dad!" Harry straightened up. There were very few people in the world who called him that. However, they were all very important to him.

"Dad, Harry!" That sealed that it was him. Harry peered back through the window. As the train began to chug slowly out of the station, a boy rushed onto the platform. All of thirteen years old, he wore the long dark coat of a Hogwarts student, printed with the seal of Gryffindor house, over jeans and a plain black t-shirt. He was tall for his age, and slim. With brown eyes, and untidy black hair.

His name was James Potter.

James sprinted down the platform, alongside the retreating train, until he was jogging beside Harry's window.

"Dad!" he said again, panting.

"James, what?" Harry shouted over the increasing roar of the train.

"They got mom."

"Who does?"

"Them, the same ones who have professor Longbottom. They're gonna kill her."

"THEY"RE WHAT!" Harry shouted, and the train was gone, speeding away down the track.

As the smoke cleared, Harry Potter got to his feet, rubbing his elbow as James hurried to him. "We need to talk," said his father.


	6. Chapter 6: Akator

Chapter six: Akator

Harry followed James back into town. His head full of conflicting thoughts. Ginny in danger, Neville kidnapped. He hadn't even seen Neville for a few months. They had used to work at the Ministry together, but since Neville had accepted a post at Hogwarts, teaching Herbology, his favorite subject, Harry had seen less and less of him. Now that he thought of it, he hadn't seen Ginny for some time either.

"We can go to the Hogshead," said James. "It's out of the way, less crowded."

"Which makes us more conspicuous," said Harry. "We'll go to the Three Broomsticks. There'll be less chance of being overheard by anyone undesirable."

James didn't argue, and before long they reached the tavern. It was warm inside and, as was common on Hogsmeade weekends, packed. Mainly with students, though Harry recognized a few of the staff as well. He and James took a booth in a corner of the crowded room. James slipped away for a moment, and Harry rested his head in his hands.

He scrutinized the crowd. A couple of goblins around a table, playing gobstones. A group of Ravenclaw girls gossiping in the booth behind him. A pair of sixth-years snogging in the corner. All normal, all uninterested in him and James, no threats.

James returned with two steaming flagons of butterbeer. As he sat, Harry burst out in questions. "What's going on? Where is Ginny? Who took her? Where are the other kids?"

James raised a hand, warding off the questions. "Albus and Lily are at the Ron and Hermione's, they're safe. Let me start from the beginning.

"It started two months ago, Proffesor Longbottom left, said he was going to South America on some sort of biological expedition. We've had a substitute since, people have been wondering what happened to him. All was fine, until two weeks ago. Mom got a letter from Neville, dunno why he sent it to her instead of you. Anyway, it said he found some kind of crystal skull."

Harry nodded, "I've heard of the crystal skulls. Deity carvings. Great workmanship. There are legends that if you stare into the eyes of a crystal skull long enough you'll glimpse the secrets of the universe…or go mad trying."

"Yeah, I think he said something about psychic powers. Anyway, Proffessor Long... Neville said this one was really something special. And that he was taking it to some place called Akator. Have you heard of it?"

"Yeah, I've heard of it," said Harry, thoughtfully.

"What is it," James pressed.

"Have you ever heard of El Dorado?"

"The city of gold?"

"That's the one. Akator is, according to legend, a lost city built along the Amazon River. The Spanish called it El Dorado.

"The story goes that seven thousand years ago the gods demanded a native civilization called the Ugha to build a city of gold. With the gods help, the Ugha built the city and became the most powerful people in the Americas. In 1546, a conquistador named Francisco de Orellana, nicknamed 'the gilded man', disappeared searching for it. He wasn't the last. Many wizards and muggles have disappeared searching for it. Treasure hunting fools."

"You're saying it doesn't exist?"

"I'm saying no one's ever found it."

"What does that have to do with Neville," James asked, only mildly interested.

"That's not the whole story," Harry continued. "Legend also has it that a crystal skull was stolen from Akator, by Francisco de Orellana. That was when the Ugha civilization fell, wiped off the map almost overnight. It's said that if the lost skull was ever recovered and returned to its temple in Akator, it would unlock to power of the gods."

"What kind of power?" James questioned.

"I don't know," sighed Harry. "It's just a story. Why don't you continue yours?"

"Alright," James paused before continuing. "Mom reckoned Neville was going crazy. So she went to find him, going to talk some sense into him before he did something stupid. And then she got kidnapped. They sent me a letter. Untraceable, crumbled into flecks after a few minutes. Said they had her and Neville. Before they got him, Neville hid the skull somewhere. And unless they find it, they'll kill both of them.

James was becoming less and less calm, "Dad. The letter, it wasn't signed with a name. It was signed with the dark mark."

"Damn," said Harry quietly. Natasha. It had to be.

"Are they Death Eater's," James whispered. "Is Voldemort back?"

"Voldemort isn't back, he's dead. I killed him myself. They are Death Eater's, though. I met a few of them recently. Don't worry, I'll figure something out."

"One more thing," James said, calming down. "Mom managed to mail me this letter, one that Neville wrote." He rummaged in his pocket to pull out a rumpled envelope. Harry took it, and glanced at the parchment inside.

Harry tucked the letter away, he could examine it later. As he did so, a deep voice said, "Give us the letter, Potter."

Harry looked up to see two bulky men standing beside them, blocking the way out of the booth. Both wore black, and both carried wands under their coats, aiming at Harry.

"Back off," Harry looked back to see that James had produced his own wand, leveling it under the table at the two men.

"Put that away, boy," said one of the men calmly, "Before you get hurt."

"Put it away," Harry echoed, he didn't want James getting hurt. Then to the man, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You will," said the man. "Outside, both of you."


	7. Chapter 7: Death Eaters In Hogsmeade

Chapter seven: Death Eaters in Hogsmeade

James saw little choice; he stuffed his wand back into the pocket of his jeans. He then joined Harry, standing up. The two Death Eaters came in on either side of them, maneuvering them toward the door, jostling their way through the crowd of happy, oblivious people.

As the neared the doors, Harry brushed shoulders with James, making it natural. "Do you see that slytherin over there," he whispered.

James did, a fifth year Slytherin boy leaning against the bar a mug of butterbeer between his palms, which was neglected as he spoke softly to a wide eyed fourth-year girl beside.

"Yeah, I see him," James said, not happily. Though relations between houses had improved over recent years, Gryffindor and Slytherin still hosted a harmfully fierce rivalry.

"Curse him."

"What?"

"Let him have it. Nothing nasty, just a friendly jinx. Something to remember in the hospitol wing."

James realized what Harry meant, and before one of the Death Eaters could stop him, produced his wand.

_"Densaugeo!"_

The curse hit the Slytherin square in the face, slamming him against the counter. The mug fell from his hands to shatter on the floor. As he stumbled to his feet, the Slytherin clutched his hands to his mouth, as his front teeth lengthened inexplicably, protruding out of his mouth.

_"Depulso!" _

The girl reacted impressively fast. Her spell drilled James in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. He was thrown backward by the impact to slam onto a long table behind him, upsetting the drinks upon it. James groaned, his ribs felt as though they were on fire.

However, things had gone exactly as Harry had predicted. The seventh year Gryffindor students occupying the table James has landed on stood up in a singular motion, turning to the source of the attack. They saw the Slytherin boy, beside his steaming girlfriend; attract the attention of a group of stone-faced slytherins with the muffled exclamation of "Get that Gryffindor."

In a matter of seconds, Madame Rosmerta's tavern dissolved into a storm of magical crossfire as the rival students engaged each other. Harry took full advantage of the chaos. He drove his elbow into the face of the man on the right, breaking the man's nose. And then his wand was out. A blast of energy from it sent the Death Eater spinning away.

Harry blocked a powerful curse, as the Death Eater retaliated. The man charged at Harry, but a stray leg-locker curse collided with him. The man slammed heavily to the floor.

Harry turned to the door, looking for James, unable to glimpse his son through the melee. He skirted a pair of duelists, a Slytherin and a Hufflepuff. As he shoved his way toward the door, Harry was sent reeling, as a bottle of firewhisky was broken over his head by the remaining Death Eater.

Harry spun and fired off a poorly aimed stunner, which shot past the Death Eater's ear, and hit a Gryffindor girl in the back of the head. With another wave of the Death Eater's wand, the chair behind Harry flew into the air, slamming into him forcefully.

_"Stupefy!"_

The spell hit the Death Eater in the back, and he fell forward, immobile. James darted from behind him, as Harry got to his feet. The boy had really gotten into the swing of things. As he and Harry forced their way out of the door he cursed two Slytherins, and kicked a sixth-year Hufflepuff in the shin.

Harry and James burst out into a street that was, while busy, rather calm. The brawl inside the Three Broomsticks had not yet caught the outsider's attention, which just what Harry wanted. Pulling James behind him, he set off at a brisk pace. The boy was overall unharmed, Harry wished he could say the same, but his head was still ringing.

"I'm getting too old for this," he mumbled.

As if on cue, a man and a woman in dark clothing appeared from an alleyway. And made their way briskly straight toward Harry and James.

Harry saw them first, and grabbed James by the back of the next, pulling the boy down with him as he sprawled on the cobblestones. A spell shot past above them to collide with a storefront, which burst into a rain of broken glass.

There were screams, and panic broke out in the street, shoppers and students not used to this sort of situation. Harry didn't envy them.

_"Expeliarmus!"_

His spell hit the male Death Eater, whose wand was sent flying from his grip. The woman took advantage of Harry's destruction, and jinx hit him in the shoulder, scorching his flesh. Harry hissed in pain, but ignored it.

_"Stupefy!"_

_ "Protego!"_

_"Trificus!"_

James' unexpected spell penetrated the Death Eater's defenses, and sent her sprawling on the pavement. Harry turned to thank him, but was caught up in a crushing bear hug, as the disarmed Death Eater tackled him. The man slammed Harry's face into the cobblestones, and his glasses snapped in half.

As the world around him blurred, Harry struggled against the man's iron grip. Then there was a scream, as James stuck his wand deep into the man's ear. The Death Eater rolled away, blood trickling from his ear, and Harry stunned him. Twice.

_"Crucio!"_

The spell filled Harry's body with immeasurable pain. He lay helpless, as the female Death Eater approached.

_"Sectumsempra!"_

The spell connected with woman, and she screamed, as three long cuts appeared across her chest. She fell to her knees, blood soaking her shirt. James pulled Harry to his feet, and the two of them stumbled away into the crowd of spectators, which parted to give them a wide berth.

_"Repairo."_

Harry mumbled the spell, then pressed the repaired glasses back on his face, framing the world in far greater clarity.

"Where'd you learn that spell," He questioned, realizing that it was James who had cursed the woman.

"Read it in a book," the boy shrugged.

"Well, don't use it any more. It's dark magic."

"It saved your life."

"Yes, and thank you. But it's the principle of the thing, sort of like not using unforgivable curses."

James said nothing. Harry took this to mean he had won the argument, but then realized when he saw the two battered Death Eaters, the pair from the bar, striding toward them. Looking both determined and extremely upset.

Harry was prepared to block the spell as soon as it was fired, but it connected not with him, but with James. The boy was lifted into the air by its force and slammed into the display window of Honeydukes sweet shop, which shattered as he landed, knocking over a barrel of caramels.

_"Expeliarmus!"_

Harry's own so-called signature spell was used against him, as his wand shot from his grip, to land somewhere in the candy store. Knowing he had no chance without it, Harry dodged as a jet of red-light impacted with the cobblestones in a spray of sparks.

He vaulted through the broken window into the store. He ducked behind a display of lollipops as one of the Death Eater's followed him. Harry tackled him from behind. As the man slammed to the floor, he struggled, punching Harry in the gut.

Harry seized a massive Lollipop from the floor beside him, and broke it over the Death Eater's head, which had absolutely no effect. The man hurled Harry away, into the wall. Harry dodged to the side as a spell blew a hole in the wall exactly where he'd been. He rolled behind an aisle of chocolate, and glimpsed his newly claimed wand lying on the floor. He seized it, and blocked a yellowish spell. The shield charm deflected the spell right back at its sender. It hit the man in the face, which was quickly covered with huge boils, oozing steaming puss.

As Harry got to his feet, the aisle around him burst into flames. The second Death Eater, the one whose nose he had broken back in the Three Broomsticks. Coughing, Harry charged toward the Death Eater, only to trip over a bricklike slab of peanut brittle.

The Death Eater leveled his wand at Harry, but as his lips began to form the killing curse, James jumped onto his shoulders, stuffing something into the man's mouth.

With a single arm, the large man launched James in the wall. He returned his attention to Harry. But brightly colored vomit poured from his mouth, slurring his words. Harry stunned the man, who sprawled on the ground, still throwing up, a puddle of sick forming around his unconscious head.

"Puking pastilles," said James, in explanation. "Just like mother used to make."

"Thanks," Harry groaned getting to his feet. "You know, you're pretty good in a fight."

"I have practice," James said lightly, but Harry could tell he was shaken. Whatever dueling his son had practiced, whether in Defense Against the Dark Arts, or in hallways against rivals, it didn't come close to fighting real dark wizards.

"You just might be the most brilliant and most rubbish duelist I've ever seen," James said, regarding Harry with a piercing look.

"Thanks," said Harry, this time sarcastically. "I have lots of practice. Now let's get out of here before somebody responsible arrives. I need somewhere to think, and I need to see that letter. Lestrange must have sent her men here to retrieve it, before I could read it."

"Well, they failed." Said James. "Wait a moment," He said, a moment later. "Lestrange? Like Bellatrix?"

"Yes," Harry sighed, wiping sweat from his forehead. "All too like Bellatrix."

"But nobody goes in here. It's haunted."

"That's why don't won't look for us here. Besides, it's not haunted. That was just a friend of mine."

James shrugged, and vaulted the fence after Harry. He followed his father of the slope to the ramshackle cottage, known to the people of Hogsmeade as the Shrieking shack. Though the door was boarded up, Harry managed entry through a broken window. Inside, the pitted wooden floor was covered with dust, broken furniture scattered around.

The place held memories for Harry; he had been only a little older than James the last time he had been here. It was when he had first met his godfather, Sirius Black, then an innocent but wanted criminal.

"Well, this house is a wreck," said James, appreciatively.

"Werewolves can do that to place," said Harry. "Anyway, we shouldn't be here long. I just want a look at that letter before people start asking questions." He had no doubt that Ministry had already arrived and were picking up the wreckage of their battle with the Death Eaters.

Harry plunked himself down on a torn armchair, and took out the crumpled letter, scrutinizing it. As he did so, James occupied himself by examining the claw marks on the ceiling, running his fingers along them by standing on a wobbling stool.

"Looks like pictograms," said Harry.

"Yeah, Koihoma," said James. "Precurses Mayan and every other South American alphabet."

"How'd you know that," Harry questioned, impressed.

"I looked it up in the library, after getting the letter. Thought it was important enough. It's a dead language, but the library's got way better records than you'd think, even about muggle stuff."

"What's it say?" Harry asked.

James thought for a moment, remembering. "It says 'Follow the lines in the earth only the gods can read to Orellana's cradle, guarded by the living dead'."

"Orellana, the gilded man…" Harry murmered. "Lines that only the gods can read. Neville sent this from South America so… Of course. The Nazca lines."

"The what?" said James.

"The Nazca lines. Lines scratched into the desert by ancient people. Neville hid the school near them, its somewhere in Nazca, Peru."

"So we go and get it, give it too the Death Eaters, they give us back mom and Neville, and we're done."

"Not quite," said Harry. "We're not doing anything. I'm going to Peru. You're staying here."

"No you can't do that," James protested. "I'm part of this now, they'll come after me. Besides, I can't just sit and do nothing. You're old, you'll need my help. You would have gotten killed if not for me."

"I guess so," Harry sighed. "Alright, we go. Just as long as you stay by me, do everything I tell you, and stay out of trouble."

"When do I not?"

"Far to often. Anyway, we're going to find the skull, definitely, but we're not going to give it to Death Eaters. Once we have it, we can figure out some way to save Ginny and Neville. They won't want to kill them yet, they're their best bargaining chip."

"Why do they even want the skull?" James questioned.

"Lestrange obviously believes that there is some truth to the legends about the skull. Probably thinks its some kind of weapon," he sighed.

"You sound like you've had this problem before.

"You could say that."


	8. Chapter 8: The Sanitarium

Chapter eight: the sanitarium

Harry sent a message to the Ministry offices. He was unspecific, but assured them that he was following up a lead on the whereabouts of the new Death Eaters, and that he suggested they precede with investigations as they were. James was out of school for a week and a half, so Harry had nothing to worry about there, he hoped to have this whole mess cleared up by then, and part of him wanted James to be safely back at school once the fireworks started. He hadn't bothered to argue, but he would much rather be on his own, when it was this dangerous. Albus and Lily were safe, so that much was in order.

On the way, the pilot from the obscure muggle airline Harry favored when on auror business flew past the Nazca lines. James had slept through the pass, but Harry, who had never seen the lines, pressed his face against the glass. Below, the twisted drawings of a spider, a monkey, a hummingbird, and other creatures were etched against the ground, made so as they could not be glimpsed from the ground, truly pictures only the gods could see.

Harry had been in Peru once before, at the beginning of the Lost Ark incident, as it was dubbed within ministry circles, and assured James that he still had contacts. It would not be difficult to discover the skull's whereabouts.

Five days later, they had gotten absolutely nowhere. No one had heard of Orellana's cradle, or the Crystal Skull. And, from what research the pair had conducted, Orellana had been born in Spain, so whatever the cradle was; it was not his actual place of birth.

James had seen a bit of Europe, and thought himself rather world-wise. But he had never been anywhere like Peru. It was hot, and damp, just uncomfortable. Made all the more so by the insects. Flies, mosquitoes, spiders, James didn't enjoy any of them.

The locals had stopped approaching him, questioning him to by their wares. He didn't speak a word of their language, having thought French a higher priority. Now he did his best to ignore them, all the while feeling for the reassuring weight of the wand in his pocket.

James had established a habit of speeding the heat of the day out in the square where the local market took place, barter for food, textiles and weapons. He would sit in the shade of the buildings, working his way through a crate of lemonade, as Harry would speak to the local merchants or law-enforcement, searching for someone with any leads of Neville or the skull. This was made all the more difficult by the fact that Harry spoke the language hardly any better than James. The pair would retreat to their room, disappointed, and try the whole thing again the next day.

Until today. James saw Harry walking toward him across the square far earlier than usual, with a self-satisfied look on his face. "Finally," he said reaching James. "We have something."

James drained his cheap lemonade; the warm sugar turned his stomach, and followed his father into the bustle of the market. As they wound around stalls of dead animals, and fat men nursing bottles of local brew, James came up along side Harry. "So what's our lead?" he asked, the need for secrecy scant among so few who spoke English.

"Somebody remembered Neville," said Harry, calmly. "Say he stumbled into town a few weeks ago, ranting like a wild man. They didn't know what to do with him, so they locked him up in the sanitarium."

"Sanitarium?"

"Basically an insane asylum. Ran by an order of nuns. It's the first lead we've had, and I think it's worth checking out."

As Harry and James exited the square, following the directions Harry had been given, eyes followed them. A short man in a grubby cloak leaned against the corner of an alley. As they disappeared from view, Mundungus Fletcher pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes, and retreated back down the alley.

It seemed that Potter had finally caught on to something. And it was about to become a great deal more interesting.

The sanitarium was a squat building of old stone and adobe, nestled between larger, newer buildings on either side. Very little about the place suggested it's true purpose; it was unmarked save for a line of script above the door. James didn't understand it, but Harry read it and laughed.

"Saint Anthony de Padua," he said in explanation. "The patron saint of lost things."

Harry rapped on the door and it was opened by a middle-aged woman wearing a black robe and a kind, but wary, expression.

"We're looking for a European by the name of Neville Longbottom," said Harry, making sure to speak clearly. He was ready to try the same phrase in Spanish if English proved ineffective. But the nun's expression turned to recognition, and she opened the door wider, inviting them in.

Harry and James followed her inside, and down an arched stone corridor. It was cooler in here, which James felt grateful for.

"The man you seek was here," the nun said. "But he did not stay with us for long. He was disturbed, but not violent. Still, the other patients stayed far away from him, they were scared of him. Then the men came. Men with magic, men we could not turn away. They took him."

"Death Eaters," said James softly.

"Thank you," said Harry. "Could you perhaps show us where he was confined?"

The nun nodded, "Come with me."

Harry and James followed the nun down a flight of bare stone stairs, into the basement. Where the most disturbed patients were kept. It was dark down here, the only light issuing from naked bulbs hanging from the ceiling, a sickly yellow glow. The air stank of urine and blood.

The nun seemed unperturbed by the surroundings, and though Harry seemed expressionless, James could him clench his muscles in reaction to the change in the environment. James himself was openly disturbed of what he saw.

The place was dirty, for one thing. The floor was of cold stone. The patients were enclosed behind iron bars, in bare rooms, the floor strewn with straw and sand. They were a diverse bunch, mainly imprisoned alone, but sometimes with up to three in a cell. Men and women, disheveled, gaunt, dressed in rags. They ranged from those that were nearly catonic, to others who gestured and twisted wildly, screaming, jabbering laughing.

James found his eyes drawn to a young girl, a child, who sat cross legged in the center of her cell, her hands clasped in her lap, her legs splayed out around her. She was entirely motionless, except for her eyes, which darted about inexplicably, not following anything around her, simply moving, sometimes rolling so far back into her skull that only the whites were visible. As James watched fascinated, he felt a hand on his arm. He turned to see that a lank, starved looking man, hair ragged around a thin face. The man had reached through the bars, to seize hold of James's shirt, not ungently, as if to relay to him a message. But the man said nothing; his eyes spoke for him, a look of fear, intense, even primal. James felt sick. He pulled away and scurried after Harry and the nun.

The left the open cells behind a turned into a corridor of more secure holding areas, shut behind a heavy wooden door. The nun stopped before one of these. "Neville spent most of his time in here," she said. "Drew all over it. Now none of the other patients are willing to go inside, they'd rather die, it scares them that much."

"Thank you," said Harry. He pulled open the door, which scraped against the stone floor, and stepped inside. James followed him, just in time to hear his father say, dryly, "Professor Longbottom's been busy."

The room was about twenty feet by twenty feet. It was musty, and filled with dust, but a pleasant yellow light fell in from two bared windows near the ceiling, illuminating the room. But James had eyes only for the walls.

They were completely covered, floor to ceiling, with pictures of skulls. They were gouged into the walls, as if with a stone. No two drawings were alike; they were all different sizes, different angles, some abstract, some masterfully detailed. The far wall was a single, huge drawing, using the conveniently placed windows for eyes.

"These aren't human," said James. Who had gone to the wall, running his fingers over the various skulls. "The back part is way too big, and the jaw is tiny."

"It reminds me of some kind of ritual," said Harry. "Ancient South American peoples who would mold the head of an infant like that, deforming them for life."

"Why?"

"Fashion, or religion. Trying to look more like a jaguar, or trying to imitate the gods."

"God doesn't look like that," James muttered.

"Depends on who your god is," said Harry, his memories filled with a temple deep in India, revolving around the horrific goddess of destruction.

"Whatever that skull was, it must have really screwed him up."

"Exactly." Harry crouched his fingers tracing a groove in the floor. "Help me clean this off. There's something underneath."

James shut the door, and both of them produced their wands. It was a matter of seconds to sweep all the dust and straw into the corners of the room. Another massive drawing was revealed, but this time not of a skull. It was a multileveled graveyard, built into the face of a cliff, dotted with gravestones and crosses.

Harry gazed up at the massive skull, to its eyes. The light from them spilled across the now clean floor. "Follow the lines only the gods can see…"

"To Orellana's cradle, guarded by the living dead," James finished. Orellana was born in Spain, but…"

"Cradle can also be any resting place," said Harry. "Neville didn't mean where Orellana was born-"

"He meant where he was buried," James finished the sentence.

They paused for moment. "Good job," said Harry, "But don't interrupt me."

"So the skull's hidden in that graveyard?" James asked.

"I would assume so,' said Harry.

"Guarded by the living dead. Is that Inferi?"

"I hope not," said Harry. He twice encountered the malevolent reanimated corpses, and both times still reoccurred in his nightmares. "Guess we'll find out."

"I thought you said Orellana disappeared without a trace?" James said.

"Well, maybe Neville found him."


	9. Chapter 9: Orellana's Cradle

Chapter nine: Orellana's cradle

It took some time to discover the location of the cemetery Neville had drawn. However, through a string of informants, sweetened by money, it was discovered that Neville had drawn a fair representation of Chauchilla cemetery.

The cemetery was far beyond the outskirts of town, built into an eroding hillside, hundreds of feet above the desert plain. It took nearly an hour to navigate the narrow trail of steep switchbacks to reach the cemetery gate. From hear, the Nazca lines were visible, spread out on the plateau below.

James wasn't afraid of heights, but he was still nervous, standing there beside the ten-foot tall chain link fence marking the entrance to the cemetery. A few yards away the ground fell away, nothing but empty air for fifty feet. It didn't help in the slightest that the ground seemed to shift beneath his feet with every step, unstable. The air was cooler up here, and, though the deepest part of the night, the moon shown down brightly, revealing a sign on the fence, covered with bold Spanish writing.

"It says, 'trespassers will be killed'," said Harry, in explanation.

"Good thing we aren't trespassers," said James, sarcastically.

"That's the spirit," Harry answered, half mindedly.

_"Alahamorha!"_

The gate slid open, the chain binding it closed clattered to the ground. Harry, sensing no danger, magical or otherwise, stepped over the threshold. Holding his wand out in a ready position, he walked into the cemetery. James followed him without hesitation, but Harry could sense the boys fear.

The cemetery was built on more than one level, shelves carved out of the rock. The graves were a mix of all time periods and cultures. There was everything from stately stone mausoleums, plain gravestones, and unadorned crosses of rotting wood. The cemetery had certainly fallen into disrepair, however. There were empty pits, where graves had once been. Shattered coffins and discarded remains were strewn about. They certainly had not been the first trespassers.

"This place has got to be hundreds of years old," Harry murmered, examining a lonely fragment of gravestone.

"Perfect timing for Orellana than," said James. "Now we just have to find out which one is him."

"Yeah, real easy," Harry said.

They walked in silence for a moment. "These people," said Harry gesturing about at the graves, both desecrated and untouched, "These are locals. Only a few hundred years old. The Conquistador would be elsewhere. I'm thinking underground."

James looked back, toward the entrance. He thought he saw movement, something flickering for a brief second, movement in the shadows. "There's something in here," he whispered.

"The living dead," Harry groaned, As James moved closer to him, aiming his wand wildly into the shadows. A jet of orange light burst flew through the air from an unknown source, impacted the ground just in front of them, and exploded in a geyser of silt and rock. Harry was thrown from his feet, but rolled into a crouch, suddenly alert.

James stumbled away from the blast, tripping, but getting back to his feet. He heard a faint rattle behind him, and turned quickly. A second spell hit him in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. He was hurled back, and fell against a wooden coffin.

The coffin exploded outward, and a blow hit James in the jaw. As James fell back again, holding a fist to his bloody lip, he got his first real look at his attacker, crawling from the wreckage of the coffin.

It was a man. Short, and sinewy, with the same dark skin as the locals. He wore brown trousers, and no shirt, and he was covered with bones. The front of a human skull was fastened over his face, hiding it, dark eyes, peering from dead sockets. More bones were strapped to his arms, almost like a sick take on body armor. White body pain was smeared in lines across his chest, suggesting ribs. It was very much alive. And worse, the man, whoever he was, held a wand in his left hand.

A stream of energy shot over James shoulder and hit the man in the face. The skull mask shattered, the man screamed, and darted away, swallowed up by the darkness. James felt a strong hand on his shoulder. "All right?" asked Harry.

"No," James shouted. "That thing was not dead."

"I know, we're just lucky, I guess."

Harry and James stood, back to back, searching for some sign of movement in the darkness.

"How many are there?" James asked breathlessly.

"Two," Harry answered. "I think. One for each of us."

Another spell flew out of the darkness, but Harry deflected it, and it fell in a splash of sparks against a sealed mausoleum, blackening the weathered stone.

"Stay here,' Harry whispered, and he was gone, slipped away into the darkness. James breathing was ragged, panting; he could hear his heart pounding in his ears. He spun, seeking out every little sound. Each one seemed to be another of their attackers, seeking him out. He saw flash of light, on the other side of the graveyard. Spells exchanged, his father.

The spell hit James in the back. He was lifted of his feet by the impact, his wand flying from his grip, and fell, tumbling down six feet into an open grave. The coffin waiting at the bottom splintered under his weight. James found himself eye to eye with a real skeleton, decorated by the remnants of flesh, long since rotted away. The stench of death filled his nostrils, and he screamed.

James twisted around. A man decorated in bones, seemed to drop from the sky, into the grave. He was wandless, most likely thanks to Harry, and without a skull to cover his face; the one Harry had attacked earlier. But in his grip was a short, handmade knife.

The man slashed out, James twisted away, but there was little room to maneuver in the grave, and the knife cut into his shoulder. He screamed again, this time in pain. He kicked out, catching the man in the chest, slamming him back into the side of the grave. The soft ground shifted, dirt pouring into the pit on top of them.

The man feinted with his knife, and made to move in on the left, but James was ready this time. He seized the first weapon he could find, a long leg bone from the newly uncovered corpse, and swung it with all his might. It cracked across the man's head, and he fell back, unmoving.

James scrambled out of the pit, as the man beneath him began to stir. He found himself facing the other bone-adorned man. He stood twenty feet away, too far for James to reach without a wand, and pointed his own wand directly at James head. Beneath an empty jaw, the man's lips parted.

_"Ava-"_

The rest of the killing curse was cut off, as a silver orb formed around the man. There was flash of green light, and as the specialized shield charm disappeared the man was limp on the ground, dead by his own curse.

Harry strode out of the darkness, defiant look on his face, wand in hand, clothing torn and dirty but without a scratch on him.

Behind James, the first attacker vaulted out of the whole, ready to resume their battle, only to find himself facing Harry Potter, wand out in front of him, leveled unfalteringly at the man's chest.

Harry and the man locked eyes. It took only a few seconds, but the exchange between them without words seemed to draw on for far longer. Then, without a word, the man turned and scampered away into the darkness.

Harry sighed, long and drawn out, and his wand fell to his side. "I'm getting to old for this," he said quietly.

"That was incredible," James said. "Can all Aurors do that, I mean, you saved my life, and…" he glanced at the dead warrior, splayed out on the ground where he had fallen. While in a very unorthodox manner, and to save his son's life, Harry had killed him.

Harry gave him a humorless smile. "Well, I am the chosen one."


	10. Chapter 10: Grave Robbing

Chapter ten: Grave robbing

"Who were those guys?" James questioned, as Harry waved his wand. A hill of dirt surged up over the body, covering it from view.

"I don't entirely know," said Harry. "Not the Death Eaters certainly, entirely different fighting style. No, they were natives, guarding the cemetery."

"And that implies that there's something here worth guarding."

Harry grinned, "Exactly."

James followed his father to a steep slop down to the lower level of the graveyard. It was a drop of about ten feet. Harry slid down the slope easily. James tried using a wooden ladder that had been left conveniently, but the old wood splintered under his weight and he tumbled to the ground, landing on his back with a grunt.

"Over here," Harry beckoned. He was standing in front of an opening in the wall, a tunnel carved into the rock. "I don't imagine you would settle for guarding the entrance."

"Not at all," said James, as he followed Harry into the darkness. The fear from the skirmish with the guards had fled, leaving him on a high of adrenaline.

_"Lumos!"_

As Harry lit his wand, the tunnel was bathed in a faint green light. It was small and cramped; Harry had to stoop under the stone ceiling. The place was filled with cobwebs and dust, as well as the smell of decay. The floor was littered with bones, spilling out of crevices in the walls. More importantly, there were fresh tracks in the dust. Identical boots, one set going forward, a second back. Someone had been here recently.

"It's like being back in Venice," Harry said to himself. They pushed farther into the ground. The tunnel grew smaller and more cramped as they shoved inward. James brushed against the wall, knocking loose a stream of dirt. Out of the upset, a sizable black scorpion scuttled out, and up his arm.

James muffled a scream and jerked away. The scorpion raised its stinger, prepared to plunge it into the boy's arm. As it was about to attack, James brushed it off his arm with a jet of air from his wand. He heaved a sigh of relief as the scorpion disappeared into the darkness.

"You alright there?" Harry questioned.

"Yeah, of course."

James found himself pressed up against the corpses filling the slots in the walls of the tunnel. "Their skulls!" he exclaimed, shocked. The corpses grinning skulls had been warped, their cranium elongated. "Just like Neville drew."

"We're on the right track," said Harry. "You'll love this next bit."

The tunnel receded until it was nothing more than a narrow slot itself. Harry ducked. Holding his lit wand between his teeth, he crawled into the cavern headfirst, wriggling foreward on his hands and knees. Insects retreated from his light, as sand trickled from the ceiling onto his head. Harry ignored them both.

After what felt like far too long, Harry emerged in a circular chamber. Surprisingly, it was free of insects, no cobwebs adorning the walls. James crawled out into the chamber behind Harry, grumbling something about building codes.

There were seven mummified corpses leaning against the walls of the cavern, wrapped tightly in soiled white cloth. The floor around them was scattered with bags, and chests, gold and jewels scattered across the rough floor. James picked up a dagger with a golden hilt, examining it, running it over and over in his hands. "Orellana's men. And this treasure was looted from Akator," said Harry, surprising himself even. Yet as he said it, he knew it was true. Neville had found Orellana's resting place.

Harry righted one of the larger chests. With a whispered unlatching charm, it clicked open. Inside, it was filled with coins, golden coins, printed with ancient lettering. Harry picked one of them up. "But this is Athena," he said to himself, examining the faint profile on the side of the coin.

This treasure was taken from the lost city, in South America. And these deceased men were Spanish. So what were they doing with Greek currency?

"May I," asked James. Harry looked up to see him crouched beside one of the mummified corpses, the ornamental knife in his hand. Harry stopped for a moment. Ransacking such an untouched archeological sight could be nothing sort of blatant vandalism.

"Sure, go ahead," he sighed.

James took the knife and made a neat slit across the face of the body. Harry was suddenly reminded of Natasha Lestrange, back in the warehouse, slitting open the misshapen body, almost surgically. He shook his head, clearing all thoughts of the nightmarish girl from his mind. She would be dealt with in time.

The white cloth pulled away to reveal a man's face, perfectly preserved. The Spaniard had a full beard and a thin face, his head helmed by a plain metal helmet. As James and Harry stared at it, the skin began to shrivel, dissolving into dust. Before thirty seconds had elapsed the man's body had become a leering corpse, identical to those littering the ground outside.

"It must have been a lot better sealed than I thought," said Harry. "Perfectly preserved until it came into contact with oxygen." Harry clapped James on the shoulder, absentmindedly. "Nice going."

Harry looked past the piles of treasure, and the newly decomposed body, to the far end of the chamber. There the seventh body lay in a recess in the rock, away from the others. Harry was surprised he hadn't noticed it before. The body's wrappings had already been opened. Its face was hidden behind a golden burial mask.

"The gilded man," said Harry, crossing to the body. The mask came away, with a little more resistance than he had anticipated. It clattered to the floor. By this time James had joined him. Harry ignored the aged remains underneath the mask. He seized the body of Francisco de Orellana, by the shoulders, and handed it to James for safekeeping. Underneath the body, behind the skull was another skull. A _crystal _skull.

Harry had heard legends, rumors, and stories about the crystal skull. But for the first time, he believed them. Whatever the skull was, there was no way it could be manmade, or even crafted by goblin hands. The skull had been carved from a single grain of crystal. There was not a scratch or gouge anywhere on its surface.

Carving or not, it was not of any human skull. Its cranium was elongated beyond belief, its chin and jaw small and pointed, a grinning mouth of sharp needle teeth. Its staring eye sockets were huge, the size of Harry's fist, oddly slanted, and oval shaped. The skull was of a pure crystal, transparent on the surface, but at the center of the cranium it became opaque. It seemed to catch the light of his wand, whirl it around within, twist it into different shades and colors, and spit it back in a glitter of a rainbows reflecting across its surface.

Harry had seen his share of artifacts during his life, evil and benevolent, powerful and useless. From the Philosopher's Stone to the Ark of the Covenant, the Holy Grail to the Elder wand, but none of them compared to the skull. The skull was beautiful, the skull was hideous, the skull was otherworldly. This was no hunk of stone or piece of metal infused with any kind of magic. The skull was not of this world, not of this time, not of this universe. It was said that staring into its eyes one could see the workings of the galaxy, and Harry could see where that belief originated. The skull was crystal, hard tangible unliving crystal, but there seemed to be a glimmer of intelligence in its eyes. Not animal, not human, not even godlike, but something else entirely.

Harry reached down, slowly, to pick up the skull. As his fingers brushed it's surface, a flash of images rushed past his eyes. It was as if a portion of his memory had been unlocked, as it had never been locked in the first place. Darkness, discomfort, being bundled into a cramped room. Twisted pieces of broken metal. Burnt gray flesh, warped bodies. Carving away layer after layer of dead flesh, and underneath, an inhuman skeleton of pure crystal.

"I've seen it before," Harry whispered. The ministry had sealed away that portion of his memory, but the skull had found it again, brought it to his consciousness.

"That thing is mad," James whispered in awe. "We should get out of here, before any more of those skeleton blokes show up, though."

"Right," said Harry, slowly. He picked up the skull. It was light, lighter than rock should be, but its smooth surface was slippery, difficult to grasp. And it was warm under his touch. Not a comforting warmth, though, one that almost made holding more uncomfortable. Harry quickly conjured an inconspicuous sack, and dropped the skull into it. As the crystal skull disappeared from view, Harry felt his mind clear. The skull had a nearly hypnotic effect, dampening the importance of everything around it.

"Let's get out of here," Harry said calmly. And then he did.

Harry exited the tunnel a few moments later. He couldn't imagine they had been underground for more than twenty minutes, but still the weather had changed. A wind had picked up, howling uncomfortably past, whipping at the silt and sand. And dark clouds had emerged, masking the moon from view, casting the graveyard nearly into darkness.

"Well, that wasn't so bad," said James.

"I guess not," Harry said. _I only killed one person, _he thought, but said nothing.

"So, we have the skull. Now what?"

Harry shrugged; he hadn't planned that far ahead. "I guess we find the Death Eaters."

As if on cue, a jet of red light flew from the darkness to collide with James. The boy's limp body was thrown a few feet into the air before crumpling against a loose gravestone.

For one horrible moment, Harry thought the natives were back. But then he saw the large man striding toward him out of the darkness, black clothing blending in with the surrounding graveyard. Dovchenko. Behind the large man, more figures in black, men and children, appeared from the darkness, surrounding him.

Harry switched the sack containing the skull to his left hand, and went for his wand. He fired off a quick stunning spell toward the foremost Death Eater, but Dovchenko batted it aside easily.

_"Petrificus Totalus!"_

The spell hit Harry dead on. Immediately, his legs and arms seized up, frozen to his sides. He fell to the ground, his face pressed into the dirt, unable to move. He listened as Dovchenko walked slowly toward him, glimpsing the man's boots. The Death Eater leveled his wand at Harry's back. Harry knew he was about to utter the killing curse. And this time there was no one to shield him.

"Stop," another voice, higher pitched. A second pair of very shabby boots came into view. "She wants him alive," chastised Mundungus Fletcher.

Dovchenko growled, and for a moment Harry thought he would strike down Mundungus as well, but then Dovchenko lowered his wand. He settled instead for driving the toe of his boot into Harry's side. Harry felt all the wind driven put of him, as the impact rolled him over on his side. The last thing he saw was the tip of Mundungus's wand, and then a flash of red light.


	11. Chapter 11: The Crystal Skull

Chapter eleven: the crystal skull

The first thing Harry noticed was the air. It was thick and humid, and seemed to cling to his skin, creeping into his pores. Warm, and damp. Jungle air. The Amazon.

Despite the damp, his throat was incredibly parched, his lips dry and cracked. He longed of water, cool, even lukewarm, trickling down his throat, filling his mouth. But when the liquid did come, trickling between is lips; it was not soothing, but burned. Harry swallowed on instinct and gagged as the fiery alcohol burned its way down his throat.

Harry finally opened his eyes, surprised at how difficult it was. That must have been a powerful stunner. He was in a tent, sparsely furnished, and made of plain olive green tarp. He was sitting in a chair, unbound. Across from him, in another, much more comfortable armchair, sat Mundungus Fletcher. Dung did not look well, his eyes were bloodshot, his mismatched clothing was soaked with sweat and his hair especially disheveled. In his left hand a half-empty bottle of firewhisky, and on his lap was his wand, where it could be easily reached.

"You sure know how to wake somebody up," Harry mumbled, his voice hoarse and slurred by the effects of the spell. Mundungus smiled, but Harry was already judging the distances in his head. The con man sat maybe ten yards away. If he had the element of surprise, he could reach the wand…

Deciding to risk it, Harry tried to leap out of his chair, diving across the room at the smaller man's weapon. But his body didn't seem to agree with him. He stayed exactly where he was, and was hit with a wave of dizziness.

"Sorry mate," said Mundungus, with a slightly regretful expression. "That's just the spell wearing off. You'll be right as rain in twenty minutes."

"I don't doubt it," Harry mumbled. "Where are we?"

"The Amazon," said Mundungus, confirming Harry's suspicions. "Out there somewhere is the city of gold," his eyes lit up. "Imagine it Harry. A whole city of treasure, more than the Death Eaters are paying me, more than the ministry is paying you. We'll be rich men, Harry, the richest."

"So that's why you're with them," said Harry, feeling his voice getting stronger, clearer. "All about the money."

Mundungus sighed. "Not quite Harry. Just-"

He was interrupted as a girl strode gracefully into the room from deeper inside the tent. Natasha Lestrange was dressed much the same as she had been during the Ministry infiltration. Black boots, black combat trousers, a long sleeved black t-shirt, all tightly fitted enough to show off her figure. Though she was in no way muscular, there was strength to her. Lithe athleticism, and with it, the same feeling that something about her was off, unfitting, wrong. Also, run through her belt was a naked sword, a thin-bladed rapier. Harry had no doubt she knew how to use it.

"Keeping him company, Fletcher," she said, lightly.

"Urm, yes," Said Mundungus, stumbling to his feet. "I'll be going now." At the tent flap he looked back and mouthed, _just play your part._

After the man was gone, Natasha first switched her attention to Harry. She sat on the arm of the chair, rather than the seat, and crossed her legs at the knee. "I must thank you, first of all," she said. "Without your cunning we would never have found the skull. No, that's not true, but you did help, and sooner rather than later is still preferable."

"In Hogsmeade…" Harry mused, the pieces fitting together.

"We allowed the letter to be sent. We wished you to interpret it. We were watching you every step of the way, and you delivered. The operatives sent to terminate you were simply to throw you off track. I apologize, however, for the actions of Mr. Dovchenko, he can be a bit…enthusiastic. Your usefulness to me has yet to be exhausted."

"You Death Eaters are all the same," said Harry. "It's all about the latest and greatest weapon. The Elder wand, the Ark of the Covenant, the Holy Grail."

"Yes, Harry, you're right," she answered calmly. "It is about the weapons. Even the late dark lord, himself, for all his power, still searched for greater and more devastating tools."

"And that's what the crystal skull is?" Harry questioned.

"To a point," she said, "but the skull is unpredictable. It decides who it talks to, who it blesses."

"You sound as if it's alive."

"I don't think it's dead. The skull can be a weapon. But more importantly, it's a key."

"Take the skull to Akator, unlock the power, I've heard the story before."

"Akator is real, Mr. Longbottom has been there, we think. Akator was a city of supreme beings, of technology and philosophy far beyond our understanding. It was not built by human hands."

"Aliens," Harry chuckled. "Just like the pyramids and Stonehenge."

"Laugh if you wish, but the skull is not of this earth. The body we recovered from your Ministry is not the first; two more have been recovered and studied. They are like nothing we've ever seen before. Their skeletons are crystal, but smaller than the skull, impure. We believe others were sent to search for the original thirteen, to bring them back."

"You're mad."

"That has been said of every great man throughout the ages. Dumbledore, Fowl, Merlin, Christ." She let her words hang in the air, accentuating her point.

"Wait," said Harry after a moment. "You think Neville's been to Akator?"

"Yes. He tried to return the skull, he failed, and so sent the task to you."

"Is he here."

"Of sorts."

"Then why do you need me?"

She smiled, humorlessly. "The skull has spoken to Longbottom. Perhaps it's best if you see him yourself."

She stood, Harry tried to stand as well, and found he was able too, if shakily. However, Natasha motioned for two grim-faced Death Eaters to join them, one on either side of him. They weren't so much to keep him standing as to make sure he didn't cause any trouble.

And so, tightly escorted, he followed her out into the night. Once outside, he was hit with a whole degree of previously hidden sounds. The faint wind, the chatter and conversation of countless primates, insects, and other wildlife throughout the jungle beyond. Harry could see little through the dense foliage, but he knew that out there was the closest he would get to prehistoric earth. The jungle primeval.

They were in a wide circle of tents, from the outside all were primarily identical, a drab shade of olive green, and far smaller than they appeared from inside. This caused Harry no great alarm, he was used to the camping customs of wizards.

Despite the late hour, Harry guessed from the moons position it was around midnight, the camp was alive. Death Eater's, male and female, were bustling about. Cleaning, eating, talking, sparring. Yet, Harry noted, they were still disciplined soldiers, quickly leaping to attention at the notice of Natasha.

In the center of the mass of tents was a huge smokeless bonfire of magical blue flame, licking against the bare ground. More Death Eaters were seated around the fire and, as they approached, Harry saw someone dancing. It was not much of a choreographed dance, simply random, yet intricate, steps around the bonfire, accompanied by an invisible musical element, existing only in the dancer's mind.

As they neared the magical flames, one of Harry's escorts went foreward and caught the dancer roughly by the shoulders, stopping him. He pulled the man over to face Harry. Though the man was illuminated by the fire behind him, it took Harry a moment to recognize who he faced.

It looked as though someone had taken everything neat and orderly about Neville Longbottom, and reversed it. His dark hair was messy and far longer than usual, cascading wildly over his face. He was skinny, almost sickeningly so, what fat he'd had depleted through malnourishment and difficult living. His normally round face had been hollowed out; his bloodshot eyes were wide, staring, not at Harry, but vaguely into space. His clothing was torn and ragged, stained with dirt and blood.

"Neville?" Harry waved a hand in front of his friends face. When Neville took no notice, Harry seized him by the shoulders. "Neville?" he questioned again, louder.

Now Neville noticed him, his vacant eyes refocusing on Harry. " Are you all right?"

"Through eyes that last I saw in tears…" Neville whispered.

"Neville, its me, Harry Potter. What are you playing at? Please tell me you're tricking these blokes."

Neville once again looked at Harry. "Harry James Potter," he whispered, the ghost of recognition in his gaze.

"Yes, that's me Neville, everything will be alright. Now what's going on, what are you doing?"

Neville opened his mouth, as if to answer, and then, as soon as it had come, the moment was passed. The recognition was gone, the answer died before it was spoken. Neville scrutinized Harry once again, as if eyeing him for the first time. "Through eyes that last I saw in tears…" he said again.

As Neville vagually drifted away into the darkness, Harry turned to Natasha, angry. "What'd you do to him?"

"Nothing," she said, innocently, enjoying his distress. "The skull conversed with him, his mind was obviously weak. Perhaps yours is stronger."

Harry made to retreat, but was seized tightly by the two Death Eaters. Though he had overall recovered from the spells effects his struggles proved unsuccessful. He was half marched-half-dragged, away into a tent. Inside was a room not unlike that he had woken within. It was differently furnished however. There was only one chair, and one that did not seem nearly as comfortable. As soon as Harry was forced into it, a Death Eater conjured tight black cords binding him to it, incapable of moving.

Across from the chair stood a camera tripod, its peak covered by a sack of thick brown cloth. "Neville stared into the skull's eyes for so long that it drove him mad," said Natasha. "We want you just mad enough to tell us what he's mumbling about."

"Oh I'm quite mad enough already," said Harry. "Just ask Ginny."

Natasha slapped him on the cheek. It was not an especially hard blow, he was sure she could have administered far worse, but it stung, and he shut up. For a moment.

Natasha crossed to the tripod, and he was struck with a question, serious, this time. "If this is so important, why don't you do it yourself?"

"The skull is particular about whom it speaks to," she said. Her voice was level, but Harry could tell he had struck a nerve. "I can't say much for its taste."

She pulled the brown sack away revealing the crystal skull. Immediately Harry looked away, screwing his eyes shut. He remained so, until Natasha his head from behind, twisting it to face the skull. Her grip was strong, and he failed to fight it. He could feel her breath on his ear, her hair brush against his cheek. Finally, when he couldn't stand it any longer, he opened his eyes.

For a moment, the skull appeared as it had when he had first uncovered it in the cemetery. A lifeless, if masterfully created, piece of crystal. And then, suddenly, there was something more. A sparkle within its cranium, a subconscious pulse. And now he could not look away, could not bring himself to, the skull held his interest, and his gaze, and it seemed to draw him in toward its blank eye sockets.

Natasha Lestrange began to speak. Though she whispered into his ear, it seemed to Harry as if she was speaking from a great distance, perhaps underwater. Discernable, but faint.

"I do not wish to unlock Akator simply because it is the city of gold. Gold is valuable, and has its uses, but with the skull, and others like it, I will have no need for currency ever again.

"Imagine it, the power of hundreds upon thousands of such skulls. Not the power of destruction, of creation, of preservation, far more than any of these. The power over the human mind.

"Imagine it, authority none will be able to resist. Every order, every suggestion. I will be within the minds of each leader, each citizen, each person, man, woman, or child. Your politicians will make decisions of my own design, your schools will teach curriculum of my own specification. Your soldiers will fight my battles. You will live your petty lives exactly the way I want you to, and the best part: you won't even realize its happening."

Whether Lestrange had stopped talking, or had simply receded so far Harry could not hear, he did not know. His life, his memories, his past, were nothing. Harry Potter was nothing, a speck in the vastness of the universe. Unimportant, little more than memories.

He was a void, unthinkable huge, immeasurable. And then there was the skull, pulsing with an undesirable light. And from it a wave, not of words, not exactly communication, but emotions. Fear, anger, loneliness, deprivation, envy, boredom, lust. None seemly, yet all beautiful, far more than they could ever be manifested within himself.

Natasha Lestrange watched silently, as Harry Potter stared, wide eyed, unblinking, into the eyes of the crystal skull. He did not move, his breathing was slow and even. He had been that way for the past forty-five minutes.

And from the corner of each eye, a single trickle of blood ran down his face, crimson tears. From cracked lips, a guttural moan put a single word, a label, to the massive amounts of information and feeling pounded into his unconscious mind.

"Return."


	12. Chapter 12: Interpretation

Chapter twelve: interpretation

Harry woke from his trance with little memory of what had transpired within his mind. His head throbbed, and his eyes burned, watery. He made to rub them, and his hands came away crimson with blood. Though he could not recall the feeling of being one with the skull, there was one thing he did remember, it echoed throughout the innermost reaches of his mind. A single, phrase, a single word. But more than a word, a plea, a request, an order. Return.

Harry was exhausted, his head lulled, no longer drawn to the skull. He saw that it had once again been covered by the sack, which might have explained his awakening. The tight black cords disappeared, as the spell was undone. Harry stumbled to his feet, light-headed. Still, after a moment of realigning himself with the law of gravity, he was able to stand quite unsupported. Already, he felt better.

The skull needed to be returned, that much was sure, it was dangerous. But not by the Death Eater's, not by Natasha's terms.

"What was it like mate?" Mundungus swaggered into Harry's line of vision. "Looked bloody strange to us, you in some kind of tra-" The rest of the statement was made indiscernible, as Harry drove his fist into Mundungus's face. The man spun away, blood flecking the air. He whimpered, clutching his broken nose.

He was outnumbered, and he didn't even have a wand. But Harry was the boy who lived. He'd been in worse scrapes, he was sure of it, and he wasn't going to give up again. He was through playing by the Death Eater's terms, and he was going to do his best to wipe that smirk of Natasha's face. Breaking Dung's nose was only the beginning.

"Enough of this," there she was, the girl stepping foreward to face him, ignoring Mundungus, who was trying, and failing, to heal his nose with his wand. "The skull has chosen you. You will speak to Longbottom, you will lead us to Akator."

"Why?" said Harry. "It's my destiny or something like that?" and he lunged, diving for the steel blade at the girl's waist. If he could get to the sword, he might be able to.

But when Harry was only a foot away, huge hands closed on his shoulders, pulling him away. Natasha hadn't even blinked. Dovchenko threw Harry to the ground, hard. As he moved to get up, the large Death Eater pulled his wand from a pocket of his trousers, and pointed it at Harry, unfaltering. Harry hadn't even seen the man come in. and from the look on Dovchenko's face, he was all too reminded of the graveyard back in Nazca. The Death Eater would have killed him then, and he was all to eager to finish the job.

"It doesn't matter what you do to me," said Harry heavily, staring daggers at Natasha. "It won't make a difference."

"I know that," said Natasha, evenly. "Which is why I had something far more entertaining in mind."

Two more Death Eater's were summoned, to escort Harry out into the camp. Dovchenko by himself was more than capable of the job. But Harry surmised the man thought it beneath him, being the second in command. They went not to the bonfire this time, but to the other, less busy, side of the camp. Here Harry saw parked an array of muggle vehicles, United States military issue and durable, ideal for jungle navigation. He didn't like the prospect on bit.

Another Death Eater appeared, pulling with him a struggling figure. "James," Harry exclaimed. Actually, between the skull, and Neville, and everything else, he had nearly forgotten his son had been captured as well. James didn't look any more harmed than he had upon their capture in the graveyard, but Harry could tell that, despite his struggles, he was afraid.

"Dad," James face lit up momentarily. Then fell again as he realized his father was in much the same position as he.

"Don't worry," Harry answered, reassuring himself as much as his son. "It's going to be all right."

"No," said Natasha, "events will most certainly not fit your definition of alright."

"Who are you?" James exclaimed, scrutinizing the girl before him. He did this, Harry noticed, with more interest than he would have a few years previously.

"I am your father's godfather's cousin's daughter," she replied, with slightly more enthusiasm than in the tent. "But, more importantly, I'm going to kill you."

The Death Eater behind James shoved him foreward, forcing him to his knees. With a single elegant movement, Natasha drew the rapier from her belt, and, balancing the blade in a single hand, leveled it, a few inches from his throat.

"Where to begin," she said, not at all cruel, or sympathetic, simply calm and indifferent, which Harry found far worse, he could feel his stomach turning.

"Perhaps the ears," Natasha said, flippantly. "No, I forget, the ears must stay." She touched the tip of the blade lightly to James skin, following the curve of his jaw; a thin line of blood appeared where she had broken the skin. "The fingers, individually, that should be amusing."

James had his eyes screwed shut, holding completely still, barely breathing. "Don't stop her dad," he whispered. "Don't give these bastards a thing."

But Harry couldn't stand it anymore, "Okay, stop" he exclaimed, his voice far more confident than he felt. "Stop, I'll do what you want. And James, watch your language."

"No," replied Natasha, taking the sword away. "I haven't finished yet. But, perhaps a family should be all together at such a time."

Harry felt an even deeper sinking feeling, as he remembered why they had traveled to Peru in the first place. There was movement in a nearby tent, the sound of a struggle. He heard a woman swearing, and his heart managed to both leap and stop simultaneously.

Two Death Eater's excited the tent, pulling between them a bedraggled figure. She was tall and slim, made more so by the jungle. Her red hair cascaded over her shoulders, but was snarled and matted, unkempt. Her clothing was in equal condition, worn trainers, jeans ragged and torn, a plain t-shirt stained with blood and soaked with dried sweat. There were bruises and scratches all over her exposed skin, but her brown eyes, the same as James', where bright and alive.

Ginny Weasley slipped away from the Death Eater's grip, and walked calmly up to Harry. Ignoring the two men flanking him, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him heavily on the mouth. Harry could do nothing but return her embrace. When, at last, she pulled away, she was smiling.

"I knew you'd come," she said, quietly.

"I always turn up," Harry replied.

"Like a bad penny."

"Hopefully not too bad."

"And worth more than a penny." Ginny's face lost its happiness as she noticed James, still kneeling on the ground, slightly repulsed by their exchange.

"What the hell is he doing here?" she exclaimed.

"Well," Harry began, trying to ignore James, who was sending him a look that read: 'you aren't going to tell her not to swear, are you?'

"Why'd you bring him into this."

"He already was in."

"Well, why'd you bring him along?"

"He's out of school."

"Oh, of course, it must be alright then," her answer was sarcastic.

"It does not matter," said Natasha. Dovchenko seized Ginny from behind. Holding her wrists in one hand, the other arm around her neck, forcing her head back against his chest. Harry had no doubt the man could snap her neck like a twig.

Doubling his unrest, Natasha stepped foreward. Her sword, the tip still red with James blood, stopped a few centimeters from Ginny's eye.

"Should I blind her first, or wait, so she can watch her son die."

"Neither," Harry protested. "Just let them go, they aren't a part of this. I already told you, I'll talk to Neville, I'll do what you want. _Please._" He stretched the last word.

Natasha reacted instantly. She flicked the blade downward, slicing a thin gash along Ginny's cheek. Spinning, she flung the blade toward Harry. It whistled past his ear to embed itself in a tree, quivering.

"Very well," she said, and turned on her heel, striding back toward the bonfire. Leaving a Death Eater to retrieve her sword.

Dovchenko released Ginny, and she immediately dropped to her knees, massaging her throat, ignoring the trickle of blood now dripping down her face.

Harry helped her to her feet. She leaned on him momentarily, now conscious enough of her cut to hold a hand to it, trying to staunch the bleeding. Together, they walked after Natasha. James got up and followed them, eyeing the Death Eaters around them, including Dovchenko, ambling along at the rear. Escape was a daunting task, but one he would act toward given the slightest possibility. Despite Harry's new willingness to help, he had no intention of staying anywhere near any of the Death Eater's, especially the girl, the one who felt so wrong.

Neville Longbottom was sitting, unmoving, by the fire, away from the other men and women, who eyed him with a mixture of disgust and fear. He took no notice of them, opting instead to stare deeply into the flames.

Harry glanced back at Natasha, who watched intently. He laid his hand of Neville's shoulder. The man turned and looked up on him, "Harry James Potter!" he exclaimed brightly, getting to his feet.

"That's my name," said Harry. "Now, you have too-"

"Harry James Potter," Neville chuckled, clapping Harry on the back. And then, instantaneously, he was deathly serious. "To lay their just hands on that golden key, that opes the palace of eternity."

"Come again?"

"It's a line from Milton," said Natasha, in answer. "He's said it before."

"Who's Milton," Harry grumbled, before focusing again on Neville. "Neville, you've been to Akator. You've got to tell me how to get there."

"Through eyes that last I saw in tears," Neville continued, recounting what he had told Harry earlier. He was becoming increasingly agitated, waving his hands in short concise movements. "Here in death's dream kingdom."

"Neville, I don't need that right now. I need directions. You know Ginny, my wife? They're going to kill her. Ron's little sister. They'll kill her, and my son, and me, unless you give me something to go on."

"Eyes! Through eyes that last I saw…" Neville seemed to have some recognition about him, was unable to find the words, trapped in the same twisted verse. Harry noticed that his right hand was moving far more directly than his left, and that his fingers were pressed together, as if holding a…

"Get me a quill and parchment," said Harry, astonished at his own breakthrough. Dovchenko obliged, conjuring not only a bottle of red ink, a plain, serviceable quill, and a three pieces of parchment, but a wooden table to hold them up.

Harry gently guided Neville's hand down to the paper, inked the quill, and placed it in his grip. Neville continued his rapid hand movement as before, but now he was drawing a pattern on the paper, lines and squiggles, rather than the words Harry had hoped for. Neville himself was oblivious, still gazing straight ahead at Harry's face.

"Harry James Potter," he warned seriously. "Three times it drops."

"I'm sure it does," said Harry, grinning, "I'm sure it does."

After Neville had covered all three pieces of parchment identically, he dropped the quill, and drifted away, settling himself once more before the fire.

As if on cue, Natasha came forward, taking Harry's place at the table. She picked up one of the pieces of parchment, and held it up to the light of the flames. "These are just scribbles," she exclaimed accusatorily. Then, after a moment, "Or perhaps…

"Map," she ordered, and Dovchenko came up beside he, handing her a folded piece of paper. She unfolded it out on the table, comparing it to Neville's drawing. The map was far more detailed, yet in major lines and landmarks, they were identical.

"Yes," said Natasha, purely to herself, as she seized the quill and began scribbling notations onto both of the maps. "These are directions. Along the river, and across…" As the two Death Eaters leaned farther over the table, James made his move.

James darted foreward and flipped the table over, with all his strength he rammed it into the two Death Eaters. With a shout of "Run!" he darted past them and sprinted off into the darkness, his parents close behind.


	13. Chapter 13: Help

Chapter thirteen: help

Ginny Weasley was reminded of how much time was spent running when you were with Harry. Fifteen years ago it had been the streets of Cairo, now it was the heart of the Amazon jungle. Monotony or not, he really got around.

James ran in the lead, leaping over roots, dodging around trees, vaulting small trickling streams, ignoring whatever colorful insects or plants they passed. Ginny herself was about fifteen feet behind him, keeping an even pace. She could feel the blood pounding her ears, hear herself panting, but she wasn't going to stop and rest until she was sure the Death Eaters were far behind. The soldiers at the camp had fired a few rounds of spells into the trees behind them as the left the camp, but now there was no sign of the dark wizards. But Ginny had had enough experience with their kind to know that that really didn't mean a thing.

At first, Harry had ran abreast of her, but now he had fallen behind a few feet. He was pulling Neville after them by the arm. The man still seemed rather lost, and while so directed made good pace, still was not proceeding nearly as fast as Harry would have preferred.

Traveling the earth, fighting evil, saving the world from Harry's side. It had all once seemed so appealing to her. Now, there was nothing she wanted more to be back in London, comfortable, well rested, with her husband and children safe around her. No more dark magic and violence.

Maybe that's how you know you're getting old, she thought wryly.

She waded quickly through a stream, the water up to her thighs, soaking her feet, and emerged into a sparse clearing. They were at the bottom of a steep hill of damp rock, arrayed with thick ivy. The ground was muddy and shifted under her feet. It was here James had stopped, taking a moments rest.

Harry and Neville emerged out of the jungle behind them, panting heavily. Harry paused for a moment to catch his breath, before once again taking stock of their situation.

"What were you thinking?" he questioned James.

"I was thinking I might just save our lives."

"We're in the middle of the Amazon jungle, the land time forgot, with no food, no map, no wands, and no idea where we are. I wouldn't call that saved."

"At least I did something," the boy protested. "They were going to kill us, and you were giving them exactly what they wanted."

"I was waiting for the opportune moment."

"So was I."

"They still have the skull, along with Neville's directions. I wouldn't call that ideal."

"Shut up, both of you," Ginny ordered. Rubbing her temples, she slumped against the rock wall. "What's done is done. We need a next step."

Harry leaned back beside her, the cool stone soothing against his back. "You're right," he said heavily. James was right as well, in a way. He couldn't explain it, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to leave the skull.

"We'll look around, there's got to be someone else, if we walk far enough. Then we'll send a message to the Ministry, bring the Aurors down on them, let them do their job. But first let's rest a moment." No one disagreed.

Now that he wasn't running, it hit home how very tired Harry was. Communication with the skull had taken more out of him than he would like to admit. Add that to the running, the stress of seeing his family threatened, the fact that he was starving, the last drink he'd had had been swallow of firewhisky back in the tent, and the fact that he was still feeling the strain of his duel with the natives in the graveyard, combined to make him feel genuinely drained.

Harry felt his eyelids growing heavy. He glanced over at James sitting in the dirt beside Neville, and at Ginny, beside him. His skin crawled at least they were alive, that was all that mattered.

Then Harry felt the prick of a thorn on his arm, and realized that the crawling on his hadn't just been a part of his imagination. He tried to move, but realized that the vines covering the rock face had inched over him, curled tightly around his limbs, pinning him.

"Get away from the rock," He shouted, alarming James. "It's Devil's snare."

"It's what?" Ginny shouted, Harry saw that she was in a similar position. She fought against the hold of the plant, but it held her all the tighter. A thick vine wrapped around her chest. Harry recalled his last experience with Devil's Snare, in the hollows beneath Hogwarts castle.

"Don't fight it," he said, "it only makes it worse," he warned. But even as he did so, two tendrils curled around his neck, probing at his face. He jerked his head away. He felt a whistle of air, as they were knocked away.

James held a long stick, and was beating at the vines of the murderous plant. But for every green arm he knocked away, the rest squeezed tighter. Ginny gasped as the plant began to constrict around her, squeezing the breath from her body.

James hurried to her, leaving Harry, and began to beat the root crushing his mother's ribcage, but to no effect. "Come on, help!" he entreated Neville.

"Help," said Neville, absentmindedly, and drifted off, disappearing into the forest.

Harry fought to fill his lungs as the plant squeezed him tighter. "Fire," he gasped. "We need fire."

"That'd be easier with a wand," James protested. He brought the stick down of the large root so heard that it bit into the larger plant, releasing a trickle of green ichor. In turn, a long tendril wrapped around his stick, wrenching it from his grasp, and crushing the weapon into splinters. Another daring vine whipped at the boy, who dodged away.

Harry closed his eyes, as a vine curled around his neck, another frond feeling its way across his face. As he found himself unable to breath, he knew he had one chance. Here we go again, he thought.

There was an explosion of white energy. It sheared through the vines encircling Harry and Ginny. The vines and roots sighed, back, shrinking into hollows in the cliff face. James was propelled backward, temporarily blinded.

When his vision cleared, he saw Harry and Ginny gasping for breath, leaning on each other as they stumbled away from the cliff face, and the Devil's Snare. He hurried toward them, and Ginny quickly pulled him into a relied embrace.

"That went well," said Harry.

"What'd you do?" Ginny asked, awed and apprehensive.

"I have no idea," said Harry, sheepishly.

"Well, thanks." They lapsed into silence, a family victorious.

"Where's Proffesor Longbottom?" James blurted, suddenly remembering.

"Right here," came the gruff answer. Dovchenko stood at the edge of the clearing, flanked by Death Eaters. One of his hands was clamped tightly on Neville's shoulder.

"Help," said the distracted Proffesor, matter of factly.

The Death Eaters were none too gentle about escorting them back to the camp. The four of them were shoved and prodded along a much clearer path than they had taken. It did not take very long for the olive drab triangles of the tents to come back into view. By Harry's reckoning they were back in the Death Eater's camp less than an hour since they had escaped.

"Must be losing my touch," he mumbled. Dovchenko shoved him in the back, and Harry tripped over a root. He got to his feet to find that they had had come out into a smaller clearing, shielded from the bonfire by strategically arrayed tents. Here the ground was barren and level. And before him was the girl.

Natasha Lestrange moved like a dancer, taking no notice of the newcomers. Her blade was a blur of silver as it swung and stabbed, rending the air, over and under, switching hands, grips, and fighting styles quicker than the eye could follow. Every movement was precise, matter of fact, yet graceful, beautiful. She had changed into a black tank top, her pale arms stark against the darkness. Harry could see the sweat running down them; her hair flying out with every step and change of position, and on her face was a smile.

The intricate dance seemed to go on for far longer than it did, until finally, she froze in a ready stance, the blade held high, shielding her from invisible attack. And only then did she give her attention to the recaptured prisoners.

Harry gasped as he recognized the sword; it was not the rapier she had used before, but a broadsword with a hilt of silver, inlaid with rubies. He had used it himself to kill the monster of the Chamber of Secrets. It was Godric Gryffindor's sword.

"Well done," she said, to the arrayed Death Eater's, though she had eyes only on Harry. "I see you've retrieved them promptly. How disappointing, I almost expected more of the boy who lived."

"You know, I get that a lot," said Harry, refusing to sound or look as defeated as he felt. The game was over, and she had one, she even had Gryffindor's sword, wherever that had come from, but that didn't mean he had to be the gracious loser. "People tend to forgot that I'm human, not a god."

"I know the feeling," she said. "Tomorrow, you will be displeased to note, we are breaking camp, and setting off for the city of gold." She paused, allowing the arrayed Death Eaters to cheer.

"When we reach the Akator, it will be only the beginning. The way to a new world will be long and treacherous, but every journey begins with a single step." More positive reception, she was playing the crowd.

"A shame you will not be around to see it, Harry Potter. As soon as your directions are verified, you will die. You are of no more use to us, you and your family, and the madman, will be disposed off. Perhaps I shall turn you over to Antonin Dovchenko's loving care. What do you say to that?" The Death Eaters laughed appreciatively, Dovchenko looked pleased. Then it quieted; they were waiting for Harry to reply. To beg, to bribe, to plead for his life and his family. He'd seen the tactic before, and reminded himself, never let the enemy know how that you're beaten.

"I say, you can go to hell," he answered, quetely, sure to put a cool menace into his words.

"I thought you might," Natasha replied.

"You know what I do to Death Eaters?" Harry asked, "the things I've seen? What about Dietrich, the old soldier, who escaped form Azkaban. I tracked him down, I found him. And we took his precious Ark and we turned it on him, killing him and every other Death Eater with him, the power of God, sending them deep into whatever hell they crawled out of.

"Vogol, that sick little man, you remember him. Thought he could save the world, and rule it too. I fixed him. Sent him over a cliff clinging to a muggle tank. And as for the rest of them, I watched Cho Chang fall to her death, following the cup she wanted so much. That traitor Slughorn, he got exactly what he wanted, and it killed him. The Holy Grail killed him.

"Voldemort, your old dark lord. I killed him, too, just like a common Death Eater. I followed the trail of his Horcruxes, and I destroyed each and every one." This was not exactly true, but close enough. "And then, when the only piece of his dark soul was left in his body, I gave myself up. He killed me, spoke the unforgivable curse and watched me crumple in a jet of green light, but I didn't die. He had only doomed himself. I came back, we fought. He thought he had the Elder wand, thought he could beat me. But I won, turned his curse back on him, destroying the man who could not die. And I was only seventeen years old"

"Stop," Natasha ordered, but Harry continued.

"And your mother, Lestrange? I didn't kill her myself. No she was slain by my own mother-in-law. A housewife, a muggle-lover, killed your mother. Dueled her, and beat her."

"Shut up," said Natasha, halfheartedly, her gaze burning into his eyes.

"I could go on, I haven't talked about the Thuggee, or the Dementors, or the Inferi, or the Basilisks, but I won't. Just know this. This is what I've done, this is who I am. I'm not just an auror. I'm a man, but I'm the chosen one. And I'm going to do my damnedest to slaughter every single one of you before you can lay a hand on my family."

"Dovchenko," ordered Natasha, quietly. "Torture him."

That was when it clicked. Everything clicked. Natasha Lestrange suddenly made sense. The sword, the knife, Dovchenko doing every little thing for her, _he had never seen her use a wand._

"You're a squib," Harry shouted, louder than even he intended.

"No I'm not."

"Yes, yes you are. I've never seen you do magic, you have your lap dogs do every little thing for you. Shield you, protect you, fight for you, because you can't. You're a muggle. No, you're worse than a muggle, you're a mistake, you're against everything the Death Eaters stand for."

Natasha had turned away, and now she met his gaze again. Tears filled her eyes, her face a mess of anger.

"You want me to go to hell, Potter? You don't know the meaning of the word. I live in hell every day of my life. You don't know what its like, you wizards who think you're so bloody normal, with all that magic blasting out of your fingers. People who think mudbloods are filth, even though they're up to their ears in power. Do you know what its like being surrounded by people who could turn you into a speck of dust as soon as look at you, and know you're nothing. That's hell, Potter. And I'm not an ordinary girl. People look to me to be the leader, to have the power, even when I'm nothing. They don't see me, they see my mother, and they see my father.

"Do you know what its like to be a squib, when your father was the greatest wizard who ever lived?"

Harry's first thought was of Albus Dumbledore. But that was impossible. Dumbledore had never married, never had a child, and the chances of him and Bellatrix…

"My father," Natasha began, her voice cracking. Steadying herself, she began again. "My father was Tom Marvolo Riddle."


	14. Chapter 14: Lord Voldemort's Heir

Chapter fourteen: Lord Voldemort's heir

Harry's thought process seemed to overload. Voldemort a father? The girl in front of him, the daughter of the dark lord. Suddenly, he could see the resemblance between them, the dark hair, the slim build; she looked very similar to Tom Riddle before dark magic had twisted him into the snake-like monster he became. But still…

"You can't be," he blurted out, denying what he already knew to be true.

"You know I am Potter,' she said, and she was once again in control, all her tears, all her self-pity, had receded.

Suddenly Harry had another thought, "you mean Voldemort had…"

"Voldemort gained much in his resurrected body," Natasha explained. "But he also lost much. I was not conceived in the muggle fashion you wizards take such pleasure in. Magic formed me in the womb. I am the first of a new brand of human, an experiment."

"A failed experiment," said Harry.

"In fact, yes," she said, calmly. "Magic flows through my blood, forms my bones, holds me together, yet as magic encompasses me entirely, the dark lord neglected to give me the ability to access it.

"If there is one thing you know about Tom Riddle," she was pacing now, once again playing to the audience. "He disliked leaving things to chance. Hence the Horcruxes, his obsession with immortality. I was, I suppose you could say, a back door. I was taught to possess his goals, his views, his ambition. I could rule the Death Eaters if he was compromised, I have reason to believe he even considered commandeering my body, in replacement of the twisted creature he had become."

"But he didn't," Harry butted in. with all that Lestrange was, she did not seem exactly evil incarnate.

"Correct, he didn't," she continued. "The dark lord and my mother were both killed before I was a year old. Before the Battle of Hogwarts I was entrusted to a faction of Death Eaters stationed in Berlin. Their leader was a man you might know, his name was Vogol.

"After the dark lord's death, the Death Eater's went into hiding. I became their greatest hope, their ace in the hole. However, when I came of the age when wizarding children first manifest their abilities, there was no inclination of any magic whatsoever.

"Vogol wanted to dispose of me, thinking me useless. However, there were those within his ranks that disagreed with him, chief among them Antonin Dovchenko. Many disliked Vogol, believing him to be weak, insane, or simply full of dung. There was a falling out, and Dovchenko, with choice followers, stole me from harm's way, and went into hiding in Ukraine."

Harry realized that her story pretty much checked out. It would explain why Vogol had not been at the battle of Hogwarts, and why he had surfaced when he did. It also made sense that Death Eaters of Dovchenko's caliber would not be comfortable the diminutive Death Eater's schemes, which almost seemed to spell domination through humanitarianism.

"There I waited and watched. Maturing in strength and intelligence. Magical training did me no good, I taught myself to fight with the various muggle weapons worthy of my abilities, I've found they take much more discipline and application than use of a single wand. So I trained, and learned, waiting for the moment to strike.

"We are few, and would have no chance challenging the ministry of today. But with Akator, and the power of the crystal skull, we will have no need to. We will rule, in memory of those who died for our cause, a cause of world order through power. We will unlock the power, and the Death Eaters will rule a world of equality and progress. We will destroy the gap between magic and nonmagic. One world, one mind, one soul."

She finished, and the array of Death Eaters cheered again.

"But why are you following her," Harry shouted to them. "You heard her say it, she's filth. She can't do magic, she's nothing, just a sick symbol, why do you listen to her?"

Natasha Lestrange smiled, the same cold smile as Voldemort, as she spat his own words back in his face. "People tend to forgot that I'm human, not a god."

…

The convoy was a long and impressive affair. All the twenty-something vehicles were military issue, and state of the art, styled for jungle terrain. Still, as jungle terrain went, the Amazon was daunting indeed. That was where the cutter came in.

The aptly titled jungle cutter was Natasha's favorite vehicle in the convoy. It was a huge beast, painted a camouflage green, belching smoke through its exhaust. It was piloted by a single Death Eater, seated inside a small glass cabin, other wise she herself would have opted to ride on it. The cutter's main purpose was located at its front section. Two huge rotating serrated saw blades, shearing through the jungle flora and fauna alike, clearing a path for the rest of the convoy.

The rest of the convoy was hardly as imposing, comprised of a variety of trucks and jeeps. And ducks. The duck was not the sort of waterfowl one might expect, however. It was a small, gray vehicle, with a thick hull, and small wheels, along with a formidable machine gun mounted on the hood. While less suited to the jungle terrain than the rest of the convoy, the duck's whole purpose was to convert easily into a boat, making the river crossing a great deal easier.

Natasha herself sat in the backseat of an open-topped jeep, some halfway along the convoy. Beside her, whispering intently to himself, the madman, Neville Longbottom, along with a female Death Eater. Ahead of her, beside the Death Eater driver, Mundungus Fletcher. And in her lap, the crystal skull.

"Miss Lestrange," said the con man, twisting around to peer at the skull. "No disrespect intended, but is that thing really all it's cracked up to be, paranormal and the like. I mean, I love gold, and it's something I can believe in, but that hunk of rock a living thing?"

"I'm not sure living is the correct term,' she said, quetely. "But as for the skull's authenticity, just ask him," she nodded at Neville sitting next to her.

"That doesn't prove anything, I know a few stout drinks that'll do that to a man. What happens if…when we get to Akator, and there's nothing there?"

"Then I will take momentary satisfaction in slitting your throat."

Mundungus twisted back around, looking slightly green. The driver, she noticed, but back a smirk. Natasha looked down at the crystal skull, starred into its lopsided eye sockets. And saw nothing, save for the crystal catching the suns light. To her, to many, it appeared to be nothing, a 'dead hunk of rock'. They had so much in common.

With a sigh, Natasha replaced the skull in the brown cloth sack, placing it on the set beside her. She could feel, somehow, deep in her gut, that something would go wrong. She had to be ready. She already knew the source. It was imprisoned a few vehicles back.

Harry Potter, Ginny and James were located in the rear of a covered troop transport, near the end of the convoy. The back section was primarily empty, save for a few crates, and the three of them. Lying on the floor, bound hand and foot by black rope. And Antonin Dovchenko, who sat, legs apart, on one of the crates.

They had been traveling in silence for about two hours.

"Well," said Ginny, finally. "This is another fine mess you've gotten me into."

"I've gotten you?" Harry protested. "You were the one who got captured."

"Yeah, but you made it worse. You gave them all that stuff, and now we're outnumbered two hundred to three, tied up in the back of a muggle truck, on the way to some lost city I've barely even heard of."

"Life can be like that."

"Only with you," she groaned.

"Not only, you should spend some more time with Hermione."

"Shut up!" Dovchenko ordered, stomping on the floor.

"It doesn't matter," James protested, ignoring the Death Eater. "What matters is what she said before. We're outnumbered two hundred to three, tied up in the back of a muggle truck, on the way from some lost city I've barely heard of."

"Never tell me the odds," said Harry.

"Why," Ginny sneered, "Spoils your fun?"

"Makes it fun."

"You call this fun?"

"Take pleasure in your work."

"That's enough," Dovchenko got to his feet, fishing his wand from his pocket. He strode over the Ginny, intending to gag her first. But as he aimed his wand, he came into range.

Harry kicked out, slamming his heels into the back of Dovchenko's legs. The man fell to his knees with a grunt. James kicked up, knocking the wand out of Dovchenko's grip, as Harry kicked again, nailing the Death Eater in the back of the head. The wand fell onto Ginny, who clasped it between her bound wrists. There was a flash of red light, and Dovchenko was thrown onto his back, unconscious.

Ginny wasted no time in freeing herself, James and Harry. They glanced at Dovchenko, lying on the bed of the truck, groaning. "So, what?" asked James. "We drop out of the back of the truck and run away?"

Harry and Ginny shared a look. "Nah," they said together.

"We need to get the skull," said Harry.

"We need to get Neville," said Ginny.

"This is why you should never tell me the odds," Harry explained to James.

"So, what do you need us to do," asked Ginny, curious at how she figured in his plans.

Harry Potter shot her a charming smile, "Don't you know me? I'm making this up as I go along."


	15. Chapter 15: Just Like Old Times

Chapter fifteen: just like old times

The driver of the truck never saw it coming. One moment, she was sitting up straight, watching the path ahead, pacing her driving with the vehicles before her. The next the driver's side door was thrown open, air rushing in. she looked to see a man clinging to the doorway, on the side of the truck. He had round glasses, messy black hair, and a lightning shaped scar on his forehead. Before she even registered who he was, the man drew back his fist, and punched her in the jaw. Even as her head spun with the impact, she reached for her wand. But the man was there first, seizing her by the shoulders, he hauled the driver out and threw her into the bushes.

As Harry slid into the driver's seat, Ginny and James crawled in through the passenger's side, joining him in the trucks cab. Harry was glad Ginny hadn't seen him throwing the young woman out of the vehicle. From his experience, it was far safer to treat male and female Death Eaters alike, however…

"What is that thing," James pointed to the mechanical monster leading the caravan, shredding the jungle around it.

"Looks like a target to me," Harry answered. Without the cutter to clear the path, the heavy-duty vehicles would have a difficult time navigating the jungle.

Ginny produced Dovchenko's wand, which she had pocketed. She leaned out the window, and closed her eyes, summoning the magic. Finally, she released it, shouting a spell, as she slashed it through the air.

_"Reducto!"_

The spell manifested itself in a jet of orange light. Harry felt the heat radiating from it as the spell swooped past to the other vehicles, over the heads of surprised Death Eaters, to collide with the rear of the jungle cutter.

The result was spectacular. The cutter exploded in a blast of orange fire, its Death Eater pilot killed instantly. As it was torn apart, one of its twin saw blades was thrown backward. Trailing flames, the massive wheel of razor edged metal whistled through the air, directly toward the troop transport.

"Duck," Harry shouted, unnecessarily, as the saw blade flew over their heads. He straightened up, to see that it had sheared through the roof of the truck, displacing much of the upper foot of the truck. If he had not ducked, he would have been severely decapitated.

"That's something you don't see every day," he said, chuckling, as James stared at his mother, a mixture of shock and awe on his face.

Natasha Lestrange felt the heat of the spell as it destroyed the head of the convoy. Potter, it was him. It would have been so ironic if the saw blade had killed him, but she knew she could not take that for granted. She had hoped to keep him alive until the finding of Akator had been verified.

More the pity.

She directed the driver to edge past the burning wreck of the jungle cutter, into the jungle. As he did so, the jeep shuddering as it left the relatively even ground, she stood up, and leapt out of the back. She landed catlike on the hood of the next vehicle in line. Crawled over its windshield and into the back.

It was time to give Potter a lesson, in what seemed the only language he understood.

The destruction of the cutter had been spectacular, but not as handicapping as Harry had hoped. Three or four vehicles had plowed into the back of the burning wreckage, which no blocked the way foreward. Most had stopped in confusion, but more than one, including the one, he saw, bearing Neville Longbottom, were skirting around the flaming husk, proceeding into the jungle.

The truck now left something to be desired, other than a roof; Harry needed something, smaller, more maneuverable. He eyed on of the smaller gray vehicles.

"We're getting a duck," he said, with finality, and shifted gears. The truck leapt foreward. The came alongside on of the gray amphibious vehicles, which had only two occupants. Harry did nothing to announce his presence. He simply flung the door open once again and leapt out, landing with a clang against the metal bed of the duck.

Using his momentum, Harry shoved one of the Death Eaters out of the vehicle, to be quickly left behind. The second tried to bring his wand around, but Harry chopped at his wrist, knocking it from his grasp. The Death Eater seized Harry at the shoulders, trying to shove him of off the duck. Harry clawed at the man's hands and face, but the Death Eater slowly pushed him toward the open rear of the vehicle.

As Harry's heels were only a foot away from leaving the vehicle, there was a crack. The Death Eater shifted, dazed, and Harry flipped the man over his hip and into the undergrowth behind. Harry was greeted by James, brandishing a length of metal, torn off of the truck by the toothed blade. Harry gave him an approving look, and then dived for the steering wheel, narrowly avoiding a collision with a gigantic tree.

Harry twisted the wheel, bringing the duck back alongside the decapitated truck, allowing Ginny to leap from the driver's seat into the back. Harry pumped the accelerator, and the truck was left behind, drifting off the road to tear into the depths of the jungle.

The duck had now left the remains of the jungle cutter far behind, and was approaching the remaining vehicles of the convoy. There was a deafening crack, and a huge hole was blasted through the duck's small windshield. Harry looked up to see a jeep ahead of them, in the bed of the jeep stood Natasha Lestrange, legs spread for balance. She was determinedly reloading a collapsible shotgun.

As she took aim again, Harry swerved around the vehicle ahead, putting a filled troop transport between his vehicle and Lestrange. There was another crack, and an explanation of pain, as she fired again, not caring for the lives of the soldiers in the troop transport, opting to shoot through them instead.

The three of them ducked low, as Harry maneuvered around the troop transport, which had now acknowledged their presence with a broadside of curses. The spells made deep gouges and craters in the duck's light armoring.

He pulled forward again, leaving Natasha and the depleted troop transport behind, as he gained on the convoy's new lead vehicle. That was where Neville was, and where the skull was. Harry hated to admit it, but for whatever reason the latter seemed a lot more vital to retrieve.

"Take the wheel," Harry suggested, generally. He vaulted over the windshield and leapt onto the lead jeep. Behind, him Ginny seized the wheel, decelerating slightly.

Harry dived past Neville into the front seat of the jeep. The driver took the whole momentum of his dive, and was thrown over the windshield; the jeep sped over him, as Harry seized the wheel.

Mundungus turned on Harry, but the auror was quicker, grabbing him by the back of the head, and slamming Mundungus's face into the dashboard. "You broke my nose…again," Mundungus whined, as Harry dodged around a tree. The Death Eater in the back seat took aim, standing up.

_"Sectumsempra!"_

_ "Protego!"_

A silver shield charm sprung up, stopping the green curse from colliding with Harry. It gave him enough time to swing the jeep around a sharp turn, catapulting the woman out of the backseat. Neither Harry nor Mundungus noticed as she grabbed hold of the spare tire fixed to the rear of the vehicle, clinging to the speeding jeep.

Harry realized Mundungus had just saved his life, "Why-"

"Harry, you idiot," Dung chastised, pinching he bleeding nose. "I'm Ministry of Magic."

"What?"

"I was working with the magical artifacts blokes, when I ran in with the Death Eaters. I'm deep undercover. I practically screamed it at you back in the camp."

"I didn't notice," said Harry. He was apt to believe the small con man, he wasn't the kind to join with Death Eaters, and he had been Order of the Phoenix back in the day…

Straining, the Death Eater hoisted herself back onto the jeep. Shoving Neville out of the way, she seized the sack containing the crystal skull, and hefted it away toward Natasha's jeep.

_"Stupefy!"_

The woman tumbled out of the back of the jeep, but too late. The skull had met its mark; Natasha Lestrange caught the sack, and tossed it up beside the driver. She had the crystal skull, but now she wanted Potter's corpse as well. Natasha directed the driver to race after the lead jeep, tossing her depleted firearm out into the jungle. Balancing in the flatbed of the truck, she pulled the blade of Godric Gryffindor from her belt.

Antonin Dovchenko woke blearily, his skull throbbing. He was lying in the back of a troop transport, which had rammed into a tree, and had also, somehow, lost its canopy. He sat up, and the memories came rushing back. The prisoners knocking him out, taking his wand. They were free, and he wanted nothing more than to kill Harry Potter with his bare hands.

The truck was battered, but not totaled, Dovchenko realized. He would get his chance.

The duck, now driven by Ginny Weasley, had pulled back somewhat as the action unfolded on the lead vehicle. However, not so far that Ginny did not she the skull soar into Natasha's hands. Gritting her teeth, she gunned the accelerator.

"We're going after the skull," she shouted to James, who crouched in the flatbed of the duck. "Find something to do."

James nodded, and searched the bed of the duck. It was largely empty, except for a long, slim metal box. Natasha had ensured that all the vehicles contained a stash of muggle weaponry, in case of emergency. James seized the box and pried it open. Inside, nestled in soft black casing, was Natasha's rapier.

Natasha Lestrange stumbled as the duck rammed into her truck from behind, before pulling up alongside it. She spun, looking for the threat, and gasped as a blade gouged a deep slice in her arm. She turned to see the boy, James, standing in the back of the duck, alongside her vehicle, her rapier in his wand hand.

He slashed at her again, and this time she blocked, a clear note ringing out over the roar of engines as rapier met broadsword. She stabbed out, testing the waters, and he knocked her blade aside. She feinted, and went low. He jumped away; her sword would have severed his legs at the ankles. She flicked upward at him; he pulled his hand away, and swung wildly. She parried, and retaliated with an underhanded blow that almost jarred the sword from his hands.

"You duel like a beginner," she said, lightly, as Ginny once again swerved, ramming the jeep a second time.

"That's what I am," he said through gritted teeth. And he stabbed, aiming at her chest. Natasha parried easily, and spun, nicking him in the shoulder.

Angry, he lashed out clumsily. She sidestepped, and as the vehicles drifted closer, James stepped out, putting his right trainer in the back of the truck. She swung her blade toward his head, and James blocked barely in time.

As the vehicles drifted apart again, James stepped fully onto the jeep, stumbling. Natasha used the opportunity, gouging a deep cut along his ribs. Hissing in pain, James parried another attack, locking their blades. He shoved forward, and the tip of the rapier bit into her cheek.

The duelists separated, Natasha touched her fingers to the stinging gash on her cheek, they came away bloody. He had scored a point, and she was done playing.

Natasha struck, once again aiming for the boy's legs. He jumped over the slash, and caught her blade under his own, forcing it down as her slammed his left hand, palm first, into her chest. She lost her balance, and fell backward, over the edge of the speeding truck.

Cursing herself for inefficiency, Natasha turned the fall into a leap, kicking off. She landed in the rear of Ginny's duck. With Natasha displaced, James, still full of adrenaline, stabbed wildly at the driver of the truck. The man dodged, and grabbed the blade in his bare hand, wrenching it from the boy's grip.

In the duck, Ginny recognized she had a new passenger. She ducked as the sword lopped of the headrest behind her, and braked heavily. Natasha, not expecting the sudden decrease of acceleration, was thrown forward, over the windshield. She slid over the hood of the duck, and caught hold of the mounted machine gun.

James, in the truck, noticed the cloth bag in the driver's lap. He lounged for it, wrapping his arm around the driver's neck. The truck swerved wildly, the driver punched James in the head, twice, but the boy did not let go. Pulling himself forward, he seized the mouth of the bag. On the driver's third heavy blow from his bloodied hand, James let go, falling backward into the bed of the truck, the bag holding the crystal skull tightly in his grasp.

On the hood of the duck, Natasha wrenched the machine gun around, and fired wildly into the duck itself. Ginny ducked behind the dashboard as the windshield exploded, showering her with glass, as bullets tore through the foam seats. She accelerated blindly. Natasha released the machine gun, and leapt into the back of the jeep, as the duck rammed it for a third time.

She found herself face to face with James Potter, who had just gotten to his feet. Without blinking, she rammed her sword's ruby hilt into his forehead with all the force she could muster. As James fell back, she snatched the sack from his grip.

Natasha urged the driver forward, eager to leave the duck behind. But as she did so, a tight grip closed around her ankle, twisting it. She fell heavily to the flatbed; the skull fell from her grasp and rolled away. She reached crawled after it, but James grabbed her tightly around the waist, slamming her into the metal.

Cursing, Natasha drove her heel into James's stomach, at the same time ramming her elbow into his neck. He let go, but for good measure she seized him by the back of the head, and slammed his face into the bed of the truck.

Natasha got to her feet, unsteadily, untangling herself from James. She went for the skull again, but James, groaning, was getting up as well. Bloodied and exhausted, he did the first thing he could think of to keep her from the skull.

James Potter rammed into Natasha, knocking her down again. The breath was knocked from her lungs as she landed heavily, his full weight on top of her. James reared back, and drove his fist into her face. As he prepared to swing again, her fingers closed around the brown sack.

Natasha swung with all her strength. What was essentially a hunk of rock clubbed James on the head. Dazed, he spun away. Natasha wasted no time in planting both her feet on his chest, propelling him out of the back of the truck.

James, dazed and beaten, landed on the hood of his mother's duck. Groaning, he pulled himself into a crouch. Leaning on the machine gun. His eyes focused and he saw Lestrange's truck, once again in possession of the skull, disappearing into the jungle. Ahead, the jungle canopy grew far thicker, stretching out over their path. He saw the branch just in time to brace himself.

The branch caught James in the chest, the duck flew out from under him, and soon he was watching his mother's vehicle also speed away into the jungle.

Climbing more fully onto the branch, James glanced around, seeing a small monkey watching him, amused. The Death Eater's had the skull again, and he had been left behind. He hurt more than he ever had in his life, from the fight with Natasha, but he knew he had to get back to the retreating battle. His father wouldn't give up.

But what could he do.

_You're a wizard, think of something._

He looked back at the monkey

The jeep burst out of the tree line, and Harry swerved around quickly. The wheels skidded to a halt inches from a hundred foot drop. The ground fell away. Far below, white water was thrown about by rapids.

"Three times it drops," said Neville, matter of factly.

"Too many for me," Harry answered, and started off again, carefully navigating the path along the side of the cliff. He heard the roar of another engine behind him, and groaned. Natasha's jeep, with her at the wheel, exploded out of the foliage. Swerved, unslowing, and raced toward Harry's jeep.

Natasha had taken over the drivers' seat; due to the Death Eater's own lack of enthusiasm. The man was now hugging himself in the passenger's seat, terrified by her lack of caution next to such a steep drop, clutching his bloody hand. She had done her best to ignore the red soaked into the steering wheel.

Natasha rammed into the back of Harry's vehicle. Causing all three men to jump. With a tight-lipped smile, she swerved up, partly into the foliage to come up alongside them, between Harry and the jungle.

She slammed into Harry's jeep again, watching him wince, as he was forced closer to the drop. Not allowing him time to catch his breath, she twisted the steering wheel again, this time forcing her car against his. Metal shrieked as the two vehicles scraped against each other.

Despite Harry's best efforts, his jeep was being forced closer and closer to the edge. The wheels squealed as the neared the abyss, grinding against the silty ground, spraying debris over the cliff.

Harry gritted his teeth, beside him Mundungus whimpered, peering over the side of the cliff. It seemed Natasha had no qualms about killing her presumed ally. Only Neville seemed unworried, gazing about with a look dazed bliss.

Harry fought with the steering wheel, but made no headway, as Natasha pressed them toward the cliff, he felt the ground shifting beneath their wheels.

And that was when the jungle exploded.

Monkeys of all shapes and varieties flooded into Natasha's jeep, scratching and biting at its two occupants. Harry took the opportunity to pull ahead of the Death Eater's vehicles, reaching a far more comfortable distance from the edge of the cliff.

As the rain of primates halted, disappearing back from whence they came, Natasha found herself facing a dark-haired boy, crouched on the hood of her jeep. James lashed out; his foot drove into her gut. As she gasped for breath, he seized the bag containing the crystal skull, and leapt into the rear of Harry's truck.

Sweat dripping into her eyes, her face twisted in anger, Natasha seized a small monkey that had sank its teeth into her arm, and snapped its neck with a single jerk of her wrist. Throwing the body over the cliff, she grabbed the abandoned rapier beside her, and hurled it.

The sword sped straight toward Harry's head, rotating slightly. Time seemed to slow. Without thinking, James twisted, throwing himself into the sword's path. But the blade was drawn away from the both as, with a clang, it was drawn magnetically into the crystal skull.

Still very much alive, Harry accelerated, leaving the Death Eater's jeep behind.

James groaned, as he settled in the backseat, beside Neville. The Proffesor gingerly picked up the brown sack, peeked inside to check that the skull was intact, and happily put it on his lap.

"You all right?" Harry asked, seeing how battered his son was.

"I will be," James sighed. He pointed at Mundungus, "What's he doing here."

"He's with us, for now."

"That was pretty impressive mate," said Mundungus, shaking James' hand. "With the monkeys. How'd you do it?"

"I have no idea," James answered.

"That's the spirit," said Harry with a proud smile. "Where's your mother?"

"She'll catch up."

Harry suddenly regained his displaced attention, as the jeep careened down a steep slope into a clearing. The jeep landed on with a thud at the edge of a massive jumble of sticky white thread. Harry reached out and grabbed a handful of the stuff. It stuck to his fingers, and his hand still felt sticky after he had wiped it on the seat.

"What's this stuff," Mundungus asked, eyeing the sticky fluff.

"It's a lot like," Harry gasped as he realized what it was, "spider web."


	16. Chapter 16: Acromantulas

Chapter sixteen: acromantulas

"Everyone out of the car," Harry said, evenly. "Don't touch the web, whatever you do. Tread lightly, and move quickly."

The four of them vacated the car as hastily as they could while avoiding the web. Neville clutched the sack containing the skull to his chest. Mundungus pulled out his wand. "What's that stuff," the con man questioned warily.

"Acromantulas," said Harry, "giant spiders."

"Outstanding."

"I think it's an egg sack," James added. Harry saw his point; the web was draped over the trees at the edge of the clearing, thickly woven, as if it had fallen there.

"Well, as long as they don't hatch, we'll be fine," said Harry.

As if on cue, a jeep roared out of the jungle and plowed directly through the middle of the egg sack, shredding the web, the sticky white string stretching over it. The jeep skidded to a halt. Natasha Lestrange struggled out, tearing at the web clinging to her, followed by another Death Eater.

Mundungus pulled out his wand, pointing it, shakily, at the woman he had pretended to serve, his cover effectively blown. The Death Eater pointed his own wand at the group. Natasha herself pulled a slim black handgun from the waistband of her pants, and aimed it, two-handed, before her at the group. There was an audible click as the safety feature was retracted.

"Don't give up, do you?" Harry groaned.

"Would you," she said, with a knowing look. "Give us the skull."

"Would you?"

Natasha held the gun steady, fixing each of them in her sights. Which one to shoot? It seemed Mundungus had chosen his side, but the Death Eater beside her would go for him, he was the only one with a wand. As much as she hated to admit it, both Neville and Harry could be useful later on. That left the boy. Still feeling the sting form the cut on her cheek, she made her decision; she would enjoy watching him die.

Her finger tightened on the trigger, but she didn't fire, something stopped her. A pale white spider, covered in a sort of goo, crawled clumsily over the tip of the gun barrel. She watched, fascinated as it climbed onto her hands. The spider was obviously an infant, yet it was huge, the size of her palm. The spider peered up at her, its many eyes glinting in the sun. And then it sank its fangs deeply into her wrist.

Natasha screamed, as much in surprise as in pain. The gun went off, wildly. She snatched the spider from her wrist and crushed it in her fist, oddly colored goo squishing from between her fingers.

Natasha looked back to see more spiders, hundreds, thousands, millions, squirming their way out of the egg sack. The scrambled over the jeep, filling it. The Death Eater beside her screamed. Natasha leapt away as the infant spiders crawled over him, skittering up his legs into his clothing. Screaming the man fell heavily, the spiders crawling over him, biting him again and again.

"Run?" questioned James, staring in horror at the wave of spiders bursting form the sea of web.

"What do you think?" asked Harry, and turned on his hill. The four of them sprinted away. Natasha herself ran, crushing spiders under her feet, beating off the ones who climbed onto her. As the wave consolidated around her, she leapt, catching hold of a thick branch. She climbed, the ground beneath her invisible through the sea of white spiders. She crouched on the branch, and watched Harry and his companions race away, outdistancing the deadly babies. The Death Eater driver was nowhere to be seen, obviously dead; her hand was already numb from the venom of a single spider.

She only wished the same fate on Harry and his companions.

Harry pulled Neville behind him. As before, the professor of Herbology took no interest in the very real danger behind them. Over the spine tingling chitters of communication between the spiders, Harry heard the groan of an engine. He barely had time to pull the professor to the side, as a huge troop transport exploded out of the trees to scream across the clearing in front of them, slamming with a sickening crunch into a tree trunk. The hood crumpled around the trunk; smoke leaking from under the hood.

Harry felt a sinking feeling as he realized that the truck's roof had been sheared clean off, as if by a massive saw blade. The door was thrown open, and a large man emerged coughing. Antonin Dovchenko was bruised, his dark clothing torn, but, unlike Harry, he seemed no worse for the wear. Harry groaned as the large man strode confidently toward the four.

"It was nothing personal, back there,' Harry protested. "Can't we settle this like civilized wizards?" Dovchenko and Harry both simultaneously felt for their wands. Both of them found nothing.

"Or not," Harry mumbled. Dovchenko only grunted animally, and charged. He shoved Neville in the chest. Still clutching the bag holding the skull, Neville was lifted off his feet to slam onto his back.

"Dung, take James and run, get out of here," Harry shouted, as the massive Death Eater turned on him.

James protested, but Mundungus grabbed him by the arm, pulling him along. As the wave of spiders closed in on the combatants, James watched as Harry doubled over as a result of Dovchenko's opening blow.

"He can take care of himself," said Mundungus, halfheartedly.

The Death Eater's opening attack was an old-fashioned punch in the gut, which left Harry gasping for breath. Dovchenko tried a grab, but Harry dodged out of the way, and ducked under another swing. He wasn't sure how much more he could keep ducking.

Harry would have stood a chance against Dovchenko in a fair wizards duel. But in a muggle-like physical contest, he had no hope. Harry had found himself in this sort of situation before, but this time there was no airplane propeller to save him.

Time to even the odds, Harry rammed Dovchenko in the chest. The blow had no effect whatsoever, but it gave Harry time to duck down and grab a long piece of dead wood from the sandy ground.

Harry swung the stick, hitting Dovchenko in the shoulder, and then in the side. Finally, with all his strength, he slammed it down on the top of the Death Eater's head. The stick broke into pieces, but there was otherwise no effect. The man was a tank.

Dovchenko punched. Harry saw it coming, and gleaned only a glancing blow; it still spun his head around as he lost his balance. The Death Eater chopped at Harry's shoulders. As he fell to his knees, it felt as though all the bones in his arms had been broken.

Struggled to his feet, but by then Dovchenko was behind him. The Death Eater seized Harry from behind, lifting him off the ground, locking his head between the man's arms. Harry struggled, but Dovchenko tightened his grip, choking Harry. Through unfocused eyes, Harry watched the sea of infant acromantulas approaching. They would both be overrun.

Neville still lay on his back, where Dovchenko had shoved him. Now, he rolled over. He placed the brown bag in front of him, and removed the covering, leaving the crystal skull to stare down the army of spiders.

The sunlight reflected across the surface of the skull, as if something deep inside was swirling the surface. The spider's surged foreward, closer, closer, and then…they parted.

The sea of arachnids poured past on every side, leaving a ten-foot oval of bare ground, an island amidst a deadly sea. Harry was stunned. So was Dovchenko, and it gave him the opportunity to slip out of the man's chokehold. Gasping for breath, Harry retreated, and then turned to face the Death Eater.

Behind him, Neville took no notice of the combatants, or the deadly sea of newborn spiders. He had eyes only for the crystal skull, glinting in the light; it looked more than ever like it was smiling.

James and Mundungus skidded down a slope. At the bottom, the jungle opened out into the same sandy variety of ground where the egg sack had been. This proceeded some twenty yards, to a drop off. Thirty feet below, the river rushed past. The same river they were supposed to cross on the way to Akator.

"Now what," Mundungus grumbled, nearly eclipsing the now memorable roar of an engine.

"Get down," James shouted. Shoving Mundungus down in front of him, he hit the dirt. Ten or so powerful spells and jinxes shot over their heads, disappearing into the tree line. James scrambled to his feet, and began to run, pulling the con man behind him, as yet another vehicle burst out of the forest.

The open troop transport swerved around, until it drove alongside them. In the back, twelve Death Eaters shouting illegibly, brandished their wands. Mundungus shot a stunner at the group, but it was deflected easily. As the Death Eaters prepared to unleash another broadside of spells on the helpless pair, another a battered gray vehicle exploded out into the clearing. The duck's hull was burned and pitted, its seats shredded, its windshield nonexistent, and sitting at the wheel, none other than Ginny Weasley.

The duck rammed into the troop transport with all its momentum. The truck almost tipped over, as more than one Death Eater was thrown from the back. Ginny urged the pair to get on. James vaulted over the side, and hauled Mundungus in after him. "He's with us now," he said in explanation.

Ginny pulled the duck around in a tight u-turn. Curses flung by the enraged Death Eater's shot over their heads, and gouged into its already damaged hull.

"That's a cliff," Mundungus warned.

"I hadn't noticed," said Ginny. To James, "Let's go get your father."

"He told us to leave him," Mundungus protested.

"So?" mother and son shared a knowing look.

"So, we're going to go back and save him anyway," said Mundungus with a sinking feeling.

"Now you're getting it," Ginny grinned, revving the engine as the hurtled back up the slope.

Harry punched Dovchenko in the jaw as hard as he could. The Death Eater shrugged off the blow, but Harry didn't bruise his fingers this time, so he considered the move effective.

Dovchenko retaliated with a punch of his own that sent Harry reeling. Dovchenko grabbed Harry and flipped him onto his back. Harry slammed into the ground, inches away from the spiders, so close he could pick out their individual moving legs.

Harry was breathless, but he had no time to rest, as Dovchenko plowed his boot into Harry's chest, bruising his ribs. Harry kicked back, driving his heel into the man's groin. Dovchenko stepped back, surprised, giving Harry enough time to roll to his feet.

It was time to finesh this fight. Harry picked Dovchenko's face as his target, it seemed to most vulnerable part. With all his strength, he punched Dovchenko square in the face. And then he did it again, and again. The Death Eater made no move to block; he simply stood there and took it. Harry pushed this advantage, by driving his elbow into Dovchenko's gut. It was like hitting a brick wall. Harry stumbled back.

Dovchenko spat, once, emptying his mouth of saliva and, Harry was pleased to note, blood. Then, with a glare that neatly stated 'my turn', the Death Eater lunged foreward.

Harry wasn't sure quite what happened next. Whether he planned the move, or he simply collapsed from exhaustion, he didn't know. Only that he was standing, and the next second was on his knees, ducking below Dovchenko's grab. His shoulder plowed into the man's legs. Antonin Dovchenko stumbled over Harry Potter and landed, face first, in the sea of spiders.

He screamed, an agonizing scream, as the arachnids covered him, filling his clothing, his mouth, his nose, burrowing into the warm recesses of his body. They sank their fangs into him, biting him all over, again and again. And only then, as the venom overrode his system, shutting him down from the inside out. On a whole, the spiders began to drag their newfound meal back toward the egg sack, all the while wrapping him with thin strands of silk.

Harry looked away, feeling rather sick. Dovchenko was dead, or soon to be so, but their situation had not overly improved. He and Neville were still trapped, protected by only by a rock thousands of years old.

And then he saw the duck. It plowed through the spiders, crushing them under its tires, spraying them into the air, moving too quickly to be overrun. It sped directly toward Harry and Neville, not slowing. Harry braced himself, and as it rushed past he seized Neville, who still clutched the skull, and hurled him into the back of the duck. Harry jumped after him, and James and Mundungus pulled him in.

The duck plunged back down the hill. Harry realized it was Ginny at the wheel. "Good to see you again, sweetheart," he shouted over the roar of the engine.

"I'm sure it is."

The duck rattled as it plunged down the gap. The spiders had reached the lower clearing. They passed the truck of Death Eaters, who were franticly fighting off the arachnids, and making headway with use of magical flame. He wondered vaguely where Natasha had gone. That she had shared Dovchenko's fate was too much to hope for.

"So, we going back into the jungle, or are we going of the cliff?" Harry asked Ginny, though he already knew the answer.

"What do you think?" she said, smirking.

The duck roared off the cliff.


	17. Chapter 17: Last Seen In Tears

Chapter seventeen: last seen in tears

The duck slammed into the water with a splash, displacing water on all sides, soaking its occupants. Thankfully, the vehicle stayed upright. Buoyant, it quickly steadied itself, and was caught up in the river's current. The river was fast, but fairly even, and the Death Eaters and spiders were quickly left behind.

"Hasn't changed much, has it Harry?" Ginny said quietly. She leaned back in the driver's seat, allowing the current to guide them.

Harry answered, "Not as much as I'd like."

"That was mental," said James, as the adrenaline of the battle fled, he was left weak, tired, and very bruised. "That bloke got eaten by spiders, I was sword fighting out of a car, and mum blew up that machine, and dad broke his nose again…" he gestured at Mundungus.

"Let's not bring that up again," groaned the small man.

"Three times it drops," said Neville, matter of factly.

Harry climbed up into the passengers seat, ignoring the shredded upholstery. "You were really good back that there," he said, mostly to James.

The boy's face was scratched and bloody, his clothing torn, cuts scabbing over, his eye blackened. It was like looking in a mirror. James nodded, looking pleased, "So were you."

"So I'm not too old."

"No, you're still old."

"Boys, you might want to see this," said Ginny, worriedly. Harry twisted back around. Before them, the river fell away. It plunged downward, the water turning to white foam at the edges. Ginny fought with the steering wheel, but it made no difference, the current was soon. Harry realized it might have been a good idea to unpack that miniature motor propeller located in the back.

"Everybody, hold on to the duck, don't let go," Harry shouted, the roar of the falls almost drowning out his words. He braced himself against the seat, and the duck plunged over the falls.

They seemed to hang in space for a moment, tipping forward. And then the duck slammed into the river again. Water surged up, splashing over all of them, the impact rattling Harry's bones. Water filled the duck, splashing around their legs.

Harry looked back; thankfully, all five of them had survived the drop intact, and, just, as importantly, the crystal skull was safe in Neville's lap.

"Let's not do that again," Mundungus groaned.

"Good luck with that," Ginny groaned. Ahead of them, the river gave way yet again. Another waterfall, a little bigger than the last one, there was a chorus of complaints from the rear of the vehicle.

"All right, everyone, same drill," Harry ordered, as the duck tipped foreward, rushing down the waterfall. This time, the duck submerged entirely, before righting itself.

Harry saw red in the water, and realized he had cut his hand on the broken windshield. He felt no pain, that would come later. He only hoped the river was free of piranha and similar creatures.

"Three times it drops!" Neville cautioned, seizing Harry and Ginny by the shoulders.

"We know, mate," Mundungus sighed.

"Wait a moment," Ginny thought aloud.

Harry caught her train of thinking. Two waterfalls, one after the other. "Three drops. One, two…"

"Three?" James inquired, pointing ahead. A dull rumble rang in their skulls, as the river twisted around a bend, overlooking a huge drop. The length of the two waterfalls put together, it was a monster. The water at the bottom beaten to foam. Harry saw a wide stone riverbank below, if they survived the drop…

"Hold on tight?" James asked, already bracing himself.

"No," said Harry quickly. The falls were too powerful, the duck would pull them down, become their coffin. "No once we hit, throw yourself up, swim for the shore."

And then it was to late to hear anything. The roar of the falls was deafening, the duck was hurled out into space, plunging downward. The duck hit the maelstrom of water at the bottom, and was immediately sucked under.

Harry felt the weight of thousands of gallons of water beating down on him. Following his own instructions, Harry kicked off of the duck. Water filled his eyes and nose, as the military vehicle was pulled into the depths below him. But he couldn't allow himself to follow it. He set off swimming, kicking against the current, swimming out, rather than up. As he left the crushing weight of the falls behind, he changed his tact.

Harry's head cleared the water. Gasping for breath, he made sure his glasses were still firmly on his face, made more so by an earlier sticking spell. Harry gained another mouthful of water, and struck out toward the show. He pulled himself up onto the shore. Now that he was soaked, he found the air chilly. His clothing clung to him, he wiped his glasses on his sleeve, but it did nothing to help.

Neville was already on the shore, sitting cross-legged, the skull in his lap, as if he had been there for hours. "Three times it drops," he said, satisfied.

"No arguments there," James groaned, crawling onto the shore. He got to his feet, and set off in the direction of the jungle. "Let's get a move on then," he exclaimed, and the tripped. He didn't get up.

"Nobody listened to me," Mundungus struggled out of the water. Harry ignored him, the man had yet to fully regain his trust. Or his interest.

Last of them, Ginny strode calmly up out of the water. The duck's abandoned steering wheel still clutched in her hands, laughing with relief. Brushing past Mundungus, she handed him the steering wheel.

"I'm getting too old for this," Harry sighed, as she reached him.

"Yeah, you are," she grinned mischievously.

"Not you too," he protested.

"Why not," half stumbling, she kissed him. It was far wetter than usual.

"Oh, please," groaned James, once again on his feet. "We can't stay here."

"Go where, though," asked Mundungus, not unkindly. "I'm not thrilled to go back in the jungle, let me tell you."

"Eyes that last I saw in tears," said Neville.

Harry followed the man's gaze. Beside the waterfall, stretching thirty feet up the rock wall, was a skull. Distorted, half carved, half formed out of natural rock. Its mouth was nothing but a shallow recess, but its eyes were caverns high above, oval pits of darkness. And from both of them trickled a small stream of water.

Like tears.

Harry suddenly remembered the tent, his hand coming away bloody. "Eyes that last I saw in tears," he whispered.

"We're not going back into the jungle," he said, louder, absentmindedly draping an arm around Ginny's shoulders. "We're going to take a climb."

"What is it this time?" Mundungus complained.

"We're going to return the skull."

"Why, mate, do you buy into all that nonsense about power? You don't seem the type. Plus, that thing's priceless."

"Not because of the power,' said Harry, evenly. "Because it told me to."


	18. Chapter 18: Lost City Rediscovered

Chapter eighteen: the lost city rediscovered

In the space of a single hour, Harry Potter and his companions had destroyed most of the Death Eaters under her command. Natasha Lestrange, herself nursing countless minor injuries, though she had allowed one of her followers to purge the spider's venom from her blood, was amazed. Amazed at his capacity for chaos, for destruction. It was a wonder he was working for the side he did. If one were to retrace the trail of human wreckage left in his wake, it would appear as though the dark lord himself had been reincarnated.

And it only made her respect him all the more.

And it also made her want to kill him.

She knew Potter had killed her father, had known it for as long as she could remember. Yet neither of her parents had truly taken on any parental qualities, and for that received far less of her love and grieving. Yet, it was almost as if the same event had occurred again. Dovchenko was dead, the closest thing she had had to a true paternal figure in this life. He was dead, and she had watched Harry kill him. That made it all the worse, she had seen them fight. A for all fairness, Dovchenko should have won. But Harry had cheated, and she had watched her second in command, the man who had taught her all about the Death Eaters, destroyed. A seething mass of infant acromantulas transforming him into nothing but a slab of meat.

Natasha felt an unfamiliar emotion, and banished it. There was no time for such thoughts now. The tables had been turned. Harry Potter had a head start. Harry Potter had the crystal skull. But she had twenty Death Eaters; the rest had been either killed, by the spiders, in the chase, or had been simply left behind. These were the remnants of her followers, the last, and the best.

The enemy was outnumbered, but they had the advantage of time, of the crystal skull, of insurmountable luck. But it was not nearly time to say die, no matter the odds, as long as she still lived and breathed.

It had never stopped Harry, after all.

The climb up the cliff face was not the worst Harry had ever endured. However, without climbing gear, and with their previously accumulated injuries present, it was still trying. Still, the rock was rough with handholds and jagged edges, making the climb easier.

Harry spent much of the climb beside Ginny, pacing himself. Neville was the first to reach the caves, despite carrying the skull within its worn cloth sack; he climbed quickly and efficiently, much better than he would have in his customary state of mind. James was next, but when they reached the caves, clustering inside, Mundungus was waiting for them. "Apperation," he said, waving his wand pointedly.

"I should have thought of that," Ginny grumbled, as she pulled out her own wand, stolen from the late Dovchenko, and lit it. The pale green glow illuminated the cavern.

Harry realized that between five people, they had a total of two wands. Not a ratio he approved of.

Both of the eye sockets led into the same cave like two oddly shaped windows. Inside, a roughly hewn tunnel lead deep into the darkness, sloping upward. There was water on the floor, and the place smelt of damp and moss.

"What are we waiting for?" Mundungus asked, as the others caught their breath. "Let's go get some gold." And the shabby man set off along the corridor; much more cheerful now that his prize was so close, and there were no longer Death Eaters trying to kill him.

They followed Mundungus in silence for a moment, Harry noticed Neville looked please, and took that to mean they were going the right way.

"Look at this," James suggested, he had stopped beside a smoother patch of the wall. On it, a primitive mural. It depicted many dark-skinned human figures crouching on the ground, clearly in discomfort.

"It must be thousands of years old," Ginny breathed, awed by the age, if not the craftsmanship.

"Then how come the paint's still fresh," James said, running a finger over the stone.

"I don't like this," Mundungus warned. The four of them hurried to catch up with Neville.

The odd professor had stopped beside another, larger mural. It showed the same group of humans, this time looking upwards in awe. And descending from the sky, a silhouette, bathed in light. A humanoid form, but not a human own, reminiscent of some depictions of Christ's fabled second coming, more so than Harry would like to think.

"Someone came," said Harry, in explanation. He had already guessed at what the pictures represented. It was a historical record, dating back millennia.

The next picture was larger, taking up at least ten feet of wall. It was the people seen before, but they were not at the same time. The people were building, constructing huge towers. They were farming, and hunting. And in the center, the source of this enlightenment, one of the visitors. Its elongated cranium exactly matched that of the crystal skull, Harry realized, tracing it with his fingers. No one spoke.

They reached a fourth wall painting. It featured thirteen of the visitors, sitting in a circle. In the center, one of the people, the Ugha, Harry realized. The thirteen were focused on the man, waves of energy blasting from their eyes into him, bathing him in light.

"They didn't just help us, they changed us," Harry realized.

"That's horrible," Ginny blanched.

"I'm not sure it was," an idea was already forming in his mind, but Harry did not wish to think of it.

After this, the tunnel opened out into a wide circular chamber. This painting surrounded them entirely, painted around the room. It was far more realistic, but Harry wasn't sure he appreciated it, the subject was horrific.

It was scene of destruction, of blood and terror. Faceless figures in silver armor wreaking havoc on the Ugha. Curved blades fell, mutilating bodies. Clouds of blood burst up from the discharge of their guns. Women and children, men young and old, all fought against the monstrous invaders, all were killed. Behind, the forest burned, the stone buildings ransacked.

"The conquistadors," James confirmed, quietly. Harry felt guilty that he had to see this, no more guilty than that he had been nearly killed multiple times by wizards twice his age and experience, as well as nearly being torn apart by the local flora and fauna. Still, Harry had no choice. His son was in this nearly as deep as he.

They would just have to aim for the surface.

"One was taken," Ginny, continued the story, looking upward. Harry followed her gaze. There, in the center of chaos, were the circle of thirteen. Yet one of them, in the middle, was missing its head. Despite the Ugha's obvious pleading, the visitors did nothing to stop the massacre. They were untouched, unaware, dead.

Harry looked away, feeling sick. Neville held up the sack pointedly, indicating the mural. The crystal skull was finally being returned.

"Let's get this done," he said, quietly. And he walked out of the room, without looking back.

The next room was a rotunda; the walls unpainted, but adorned with the faces of demons, carved into the rock, their blank hollow eyes staring out at Harry. Illuminating the room was sunlight, pouring from an open passage. Neville was already standing in the light on the platform outside, examining the stairs leading downward.

"I already hate this city," James mumbled. Joining the others in the circular room. "At least its deserted."

One of the demon faces fell out of the wall, the stone mask shattering on the floor. Then the walls exploded outward. Shadowy figures crawled out of the rubble, closing in on them. Mundungus screamed, Ginny swore, Harry groaned, "Not again."

A flash of light lit the darkness, hitting James in the shoulder. He was thrown onto his back, landing hard on the stone floor. One of the figures landed on his chest, with crushing weight. Its hands curled around his neck, not strangling, but crushing.

Harry appeared behind the attacker, and brought both his hands down on the person's neck. His son's attacker lost his grip, stunned, and Harry shoved him away, into another of the people from the walls.

Harry seized James arm, and pulled the boy after him out into the light. Into Akator.

The city took Harry's breath away. It lay in ruins, shattered stone choked with growing vegetation, but the sheer size and scope of the buildings was unheard of for ancient South America. The buildings were not made of gold, but of stone. The ground was lush and green, half-working aqua ducts navigated the city.

Akator was located in a sort of bowl, cliffs reaching up on every side. On was a dam of stone, beyond it a lake of calm, sparkling water. In the center of the city was its tallest structure, a pyramid of brown stone. Harry knew instantly that that was their destination. That was where the skull needed to be.

Harry and James flew down the stairs. Behind them, their attackers, regurgitated by the walls inside, emerged into the light. They were not welcoming.

The men and woman were small, but well built, their dark eyes glinting in the sun. Their hair was either shaved, or twisted and long, snarled and dirty. Their bodies were adorned with jewelry of cords and animal bones, their only clothing consisting of rough animal skin, bound together. Their skin was dark, blackened by sunlight, but painted with white and pale shades of green and brown. Peircings of fangs and thorns hug from their ears, their noses, all over their bodies. But most terrifying of all, they carried no weapons, no blades, no wands. Yet jets of energy, of raw magic, flew from their hands without a word.

They were the Ugha, Harry realized. The ancients of Akator, yet not the gifted industrialists they had become. Without the visitors to guide them, they degenerated into savages.

Harry reached the foot of the stairs. But they were already surrounded, more of the Ugha appeared from the ruins of the city. There had to be at least fifty in all, added to the twenty or so behind them.

Harry's calculations were interrupted, as a jet of magic hit in the back, slamming him onto the ground. Immediately, two of the natives were upon him, tearing at him with their bare hands. Harry drove his elbow into one of their faces, felt the woman's jaw crack. But as she spun away, the other grabbed Harry's head and rammed his face into the dirt, covering his glasses with sand.

James dove at the man, knocking him off Harry, and away into the crowd. Harry got to his feet, to see Ginny seized from behind. The Ugha tore at her hair, until, screaming, she blew him away with a jinx. Beyond her, Mundungus was holding his own, fighting of attackers with a mixture spells and blows. Neville dodged through the battle, untouched.

James was seized beside Harry. Harry rushed to help him, but was set upon by another of the natives. As he struggled against the stronger man, Harry could only watch James fight against his captors grip.

Harry landed a punch across his opponents jaw, but the man let loose another blast of magic. It hit Harry at point blank range, tearing through his shirt, sending him back into the arms of another Ugha warrior. As the man held him tightly, a woman jumped onto him, digging her heels into his chest, trying to gouge out his eyes. Harry fought her off momentarily, by head butting her in the face. But he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

"Wand!" he shouted in desperation for the tool he so desperately needed.

He was as surprised as anyone when, as requested, a magical piece of wood sailed through the air toward him. Ginny had thrown it, hearing his cry, and now set on her attackers with her fists.

Harry tore on of his arms out of the man's hold and caught the wand.

_"Flipendo!"_

The woman was sent flying backwards, slamming into some of her fellows. Harry tore out of the Ugha's grip, and stunned him. He sent a jet of blue flame flying into the face of the man holding James. The boy slipped away, and was lost within the flurry of magic and fighting.

James saw Neville seized by a particularly bulky Ugha, and lifted into the air by his neck, his feet inches above the ground. As before, the man still did nothing.

"Wand," James called, following his father's example. Mundungus instinctively flung his own weapon to the boy.

_"Petrificus Totalus!"_

James caught the wand and with a single motion, and used it to save the professor, rendering the man immobile. Mundungus elbowed a warrior in the gut, and then floored the man with a kick to the crotch, proving himself surprisingly adept at fighting barehanded. Survival, of course, was worth almost as much as gold.

"Wand," this time the shout was raised by Ginny, who was being overrun, blood running down her face from a fresh cut. James threw the wand to her, as he ducked under the grab of an Ugha.

Ginny, catching the wand, spun, blocking a blast of magic, before cursing its source. Another jet of magic hit in the arm, searing through the thin cloth of her shirt, scorching her flesh. The wand fell from her grip, rolling directly into Harry's hand. He straightened up, and delivered two instantaneous curses, knocking out two attackers at the same time, before hurling the wand back to Ginny.

Ginny tossed it back to James, saving him from decapitation, and kicked up, catching an Ugha warrior in the chest with the heel of her sneaker.

As Mundungus shouted "Wand!" Harry threw it to him, allowing him to drive off a particularly enthusiastic warrior. Wandless, Harry felled an attacker with a single punch, and charged back into the battle.

Each foe merged into the next, as the two wands circled between the four companions. Every time an Ugha was dispatched, by fist or spell, another sprang in to take its place. Harry hoped that they were simply coming back for more, that there weren't really that many warriors.

They were holding their own, but they were also fighting a losing battle, and they weren't getting any younger. Harry needed to bring a quick end to the fight, before they were overwhelmed. The final blow came when the wand in Harry's hand broke in half under the force of repelling an enemy spell.

He ducked and weaved through the sea of natives, "Neville," he shouted, getting the man's attention.

"Harry James Potter!" Neville exclaimed happily.

"How'd you get past them, Neville? We're going to die, you have to help us."

Neville raised an eyebrow, and waved the cloth bag pointedly, Harry cursed himself as he realized how simple it had been. He threw his wand to James, who needed it, and planted a quick shove to a native woman, as he sprinted toward Neville.

Harry wrenched the bag from Neville's hand, tearing it. He yanked out the crystal skull, and held it above his head. As it had with the spiders, the skull caught the light, glinting, multifaceted rainbows reflected across its face.

In unison, the Ugha stood down. They melted back into the ruins, disappearing from view. Apparently, they approved of the skulls return.

Harry slowed his breathing calming himself. He put the skull under his arm, and this time Neville did not snatch it back.

"Well, that was interesting," Ginny groaned, holding her leg, a bloody gash torn into her thigh.

Harry looked away, as she began to heal it with one of their wands. "There," he said, pointing at the summit of the pyramid. "That's where we're going."

"Not another climb,' James sighed.

The walk to the pyramid went quickly, Harry knew he was purposefully hurrying, in case the Ugha changed their minds, or they were presented with another, worse, defense. His worries were unfounded, however, as they reached the pyramid without incident.

Thankfully, while there was no entrance at the structure's base, there was a flight of stairs carved into the rock, making the ascent that much easier. They climbed in silence, anticipating their goal.

At the pyramids apex, there was a flat square of stone. In its center, the base of a pillar. Above that, the pillar split apart into four horizontal stone structures, pointing off to the four corners of the compass. And there was no entrance.

"But there's got to be a way inside," Harry thought aloud, circling the pillar. He found no way in on the other side either.

Harry glanced at Neville, who shook his head, sadly. "Neville made it this far," he realized, "But he couldn't get in. that's why he came back."

"To lay their hands on that golden key that opes the palace of eternity…" said Neville quietly.

"Golden key, that sounds real good about now," Groaned Mundungus, sitting down heavily. "Some city of gold. I see the city, but no bloody gold. No treasure, just a bunch of bloody Indians."

"But this is South America…" James began, but stopped when he saw his mother glare at him. It was best to leave Mundungus to his racist complaints, while they did the real work.

Harry ran a hand along the pillar, and jerked his hand away when he saw a glint of gold. He scrapped off the layer of grit and vegetation to reveal a gold circle, about the size of a dinner plate, set into the wall of the pedestal.

"That's more like it," said Mundungus.

"Lay their hands on the golden key," Harry breathed. He looked down at the skull in his hands, warm to the touch. The gold square was the lock, and he, his hands were the key. The skull had chosen him, the chosen one. It had spoken to him, without driving him insane. It had helped every step of the way. And in the back of his mind, whether from the skull or not, he felt a glint of approval.

Harry handed the skull to Ginny, "Just for a moment," he said. She nodded, and hugged it to her chest.

Harry took a deep breath, and then laid both his hand, palms first, on the gold circle.


	19. Chapter 19: Temple Of The Crystal Skull

Chapter nineteen: the temple of the crystal skull

For a moment, nothing happened. Then there was ear-piercing grind of stone on stone. Slowly, the four pillars rose, supported by hidden gears. They met with a crunch, forming a single pillar pointing into the sky. Then the monument rotated a single time, like a key turning in a lock.

With a click, the stone around the pillar began retract. Harry danced backward as the gap widened, sand spilling into it. The pillar extended downward within the pyramid, reaching into the darkness below. Harry saw foot-long stone slabs set into pillar, stairs, descending into the heart of the pyramid.

"Opes the palace of eternity," said Neville, happily. He jumped down into the gap, landing on the stairway. He began to descend, and was quickly swallowed up.

"Here goes nothing," James leapt after the professor. By now the stone roof had stopped retracting, leaving a sizable gap between safe ground and the pillar. Harry urged Ginny on, and she jumped, landing in a crouch.

"No way, mate," Mundungus protested, but Harry simply grabbed him and half-pushed, half-threw him into the gap. Ginny caught him, and the two set off down the stairwell.

Harry, last to leave, followed. The stairs were slippery, and there was no support other than the pillar itself. So the climb down was more treacherous than he had expected. They were descending into a wide-open space; apparently the entire pyramid had been hollow within. Far below, the pillar reached solid stone, the flat ground unadorned.

Another grinding from within the pillar rang in Harry's ears. He started as he realized what was going on. The stairs, were retracting into the pillar.

"Hurry," he shouted, shoving Mundungus to go faster. He guessed they had about thirty seconds before the stairs disappeared entirely. They flew around the pillar, disregarding caution, the ground below still uninvitingly far away. But, it became harder and harder to find purchase as the steps grew rapidly smaller.

The stairs reached a single inch long, and got smaller. Harry's trainers searched for purchase as the stairs disappeared into the wall. He fell the last ten feet to the ground, and landed in a crouch. Still, it hurt.

Neville had already arrived; James had only dropped a few feet. Mundungus had landed heavily on his back, and lay groaning. Ginny had actually wrapped herself around the pillar, and slid slowly down. They were altogether, wherever.

"This has to be underground," Harry said, "a whole complex." Stretching out from the hollow room were multiple corridors and passageways.

"This way," he said, indicating a wide doorway.

"How do you know?" Ginny questioned.

He shrugged, "I just know." The same way he had known that the pyramid was where the skull needed to go.

Natasha Lestrange stepped slowly through the streets of the lost city. Around her the ground was littered with bodies, a mixture of Ugha and Death Eaters. The natives had put up a surprising resistance, but they had been wiped out. The same would happen to Harry Potter.

Natasha shaded her eyes with a hand, as she looked to the peak of the pyramid in the city's center. That was where she would find the power, the skull, and, no doubt, Potter as well. And, being the most impressive building in these dilapidated ruins, it was simply a great place to start.

After a stretch of tunnel like corridor, the path opened out into a larger room. A walkway, elevated over still pools of water, proceeded past large stone wheels. "Turbines," said James. "They had water power, maybe even electricity."

"Then they were just as advanced as the stories say," Harry nodded, also impressed.

At the end of the walkway, they came to a pair of wide wooden doors. They reminded James of the doors leading to Hogwarts' great hall. The doors were unlocked, and pushed open easily, scrapping against the stone floor.

"That's more like it," Mundungus exclaimed, his face lighting up. For the large room beyond was heaped with treasure. Gold, bars and jewelry. Precious stones, set into crowns or uncut, piled in heaps. There were statues of pure marble and jade, suits of armor of the most valuable metals.

They walked slowly into the room, looking all about, taking it in. it was more treasure than Harry had seen in his life. And so diverse, he realized. Not just South American treasures, but coins and works of art from all around the world, all Earth's primitive cultures. Rome, Greece, Persia, Egypt, all were well represented.

"They were collectors," Harry whispered. "More than that, they were archeologists."

James picked up a medallion, pure god inset with a gleaming pearl. His mother shot him a look, and he replaced it quickly. But once Ginny's back was turned, Mundungus pocketed the piece. It was quickly joined by a string of pearls and several handfuls of coins.

Neville took no notice of the glittering horde. He walked straight through the cavern. At the far side were two more double doors, this time stone. They were locked, when Harry pushed on them. However, set into the door, like a keyhole, was a hole. It was about the size of the crystal skull.

As the five of them surrounded the doors. Harry once again picked up the skull. He placed it into the notch, and there was a click. The doors slid slowly open of their won accord.

The room inside was perfectly circular, the ceiling a dome. Up a small flight of steps was a round pedestal. The others followed Harry up onto the pedestal, standing in its center.

Evenly spaced around the pedestal where thirteen stone thrones. And on each of these thrones a skeleton. They were larger than that of a human, seven feet at least, and with long arms and legs. The skeletons were of pure crystal, catching what little light filled the room and distorting it. Each of their skulls was identical to the piece of rock in Harry's hands. Except for a single member of the thirteen, whose head was missing.

"They're a hive mind," Harry said, unsure where the knowledge arose from. "A single consciousness spread throughout multiple bodies, unable to function without a missing piece."

"Return," Neville whispered. Now that Harry was so close to the skulls goal, it practically hurt not to be placing it on the skeletons shoulders.

_"Accio crystal skull!"_

The skull was torn form Harry's grasp. It flew into Mundungus waiting hands. The small man leveled his wand at the four of them, while slowly backing away.

"Well, done Fletcher," it was a voice Harry had hoped never to hear again. Natasha Lestrange walked up the steps to join them on the platform, catching the skull as Mundungus tossed it to her. Behind her came three men, the remnants of what had originally been a small army of Death Eaters.

"What are you a triple agent?" Ginny protested.

"More of an opportunist," said Mundungus with a grin.

The three Death Eaters spread out, covering Harry and his companions with their wands. "So close and yet so far," said Natasha to Harry, in mock pity. "An admirable effort, but if you'll excuse me, I have an appointment to keep."


	20. Chapter 20: Return

Chapter twenty: return

"You don't understand," Harry protested, as she approached the headless skeleton. "The visitors weren't conquerors, they were teachers."

"They have waited over a thousand years for the one who was lost," said Natasha. "Imagine what they've seen. What they'll be able to tell me, able to _teach_ me," she said pointedly.

"I don't think the power is what you think it is."

"I think you lack belief."

"Oh, I believe. That's why I'm staying put."

Harry said no more. As she reached up to place the skull, it was torn from Natasha's grasp, to click into place upon the skulls, soldiers. She stepped back, apprehensively.

The Death Eaters looked around confused, as the air seemed to fill with electricity, a long humming ringing in their eardrums. Not from an outside source, the sound existed in the mind only.

"They're communicating," she said.

And then the communications branched out to include Harry, a wave of emotion for him to interpret. It was hard to discern, a mixture of gratitude, relief and…ferocity.

"We…they," Harry began, interpreting aloud. "They want to give you a gift."

Natasha looked up into the skull's eyes. "I want power, I want knowledge," she said quietly. "I want to be a wizard. No, better, I want to be one of you, a god."

"It will be done," Harry said, and gasped as the communication left him.

The skeletons began to glow, shining with an inner light. There was a low rumbling. Harry watched, speechless, as a crack etched its way up the side of the dome. A piece of masonry was torn out, but instead of crashing the ground, it fell upward, pulled by an invisible force. The rumbling grew louder, as more of the stone was torn away, revealing nothing but darkness beyond.

Natasha ignored the destruction. She had eyes only for the skull. Her hair twisted about in an invisible wind, as she floated upward, her boots an inch from the floor, the air around her crackling with static electricity. Twin droplets of blood leaked from her tear ducts, tracing red lines down her cheeks Harry felt a knot of fear in his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to run, but he doubted the Death Eater's would allow it. Yet, as more and more of the room was sucked away, he doubted they would survive anyway.

_"Expeliarmus!" _

Mundungus's spell hit the Death Eater straight on. The man was knocked of his feet, as his wand sailed away and was swallowed by the blackness. The attention of the other two Death Eaters was attracted. One of them attacked Mundungus, and the two began to trade spells.

_"Crucio!" _

The other Death Eater's curse crumpled Ginny to the floor, writhing in agony. James charged the man, but the Death Eater knocked him away with a forceful blow. Harry tried to reach the man, but was slammed to the stone floor, as the disarmed Death Eater tackled him.

The Death Eater laughed in triumph, but then another person stepped foreward. Neville Longbottom, the madman. Neville reared back, and slugged the Death Eater across the face. The man was thrown backward off the pedestal, and was swallowed up by the darkness.

"I hate Death Eaters," said professor Longbottom.

"Welcome back Neville," James said with a grin, helping Ginny to her feet.

"Run," Harry shouted, a word he had grown accustomed to announcing at regular intervals. Following his advice, the three of them raced out of the room, leaving him and Mundungus to their opponents, and Natasha to her 'gift'.

Harry squirmed out of the Death Eater's grip, and punched the man in the in the face. He got to his feet, and was sent reeling as the Death Eater slammed a chunk of rock into the side of his head. Harry fell back against one of the thrones; he could feel it vibrating, as blood trickled down the side of his head.

He saw a flash of silver, as the Death Eater prepared for another blow. Harry reached out and caught the sword of Gryffindor by the hilt before it could be sucked into the black maw.

The Death Eater charged Harry, brandishing the rock…and impaled himself on the broadsword. They found themselves face to face, blood trickling from the man's mouth as his eyes glazed over. Sickened, Harry let go, allowing both man and blade be pulled into the growing vortex.

He stumbled around the throne, back to the pedestal, fighting against the pull of the black maelstrom. "Hey," he shouted at Mundungus, distracting the man's opponent. This allowed Mundungus to dispatch the Death Eater with a weak stunner. "Let's get out of here."

The two threw themselves down the steps, as the pedestal began to spin, first slowly, then quicker, the glowing skeletons merging into one another. And Natasha floated in the center, oblivious.

As Harry and Mundungus sprinted through the treasure, it was torn apart around them, treasure and stone alike devoured by the blackness. With an especially strong surge, Mundungus himself was lifted off his feet. He would have been sucked backward, had not a strong hold caught him around the wrist.

Try as he might, bracing himself against the doorway, Harry was unable to pull Mundungus to him. He noticed the man's bulging pockets, and remembered the sword. The vortex was especially magnetic.

"You have to empty your pockets," Harry shouted.

"No," Mundungus called back.

"It's just gold."

"You can't pull me up, go, save yourself."

"No," it was Harry's turn to be desperate."

"Your family needs you. Run as fast as you can," Mundungus grinned. "Shouldn't be anything new for you." And the man let go.

Mundungus watched Harry retreat as he was pulled deep into the gaping black maw. He had saved Harry, in the end, he knew that, and his pockets were full of treasure. There were worse ways to go.

And then his atoms were torn apart by the vortex, and he knew no more.

The throne room had long past been destroyed. Stone and living matter had alike been ripped apart by the vacuum. The visitors had themselves retreated into the black, save for one. And then there was Natasha, floating in the void.

The power flooded her veins, energy curling around her fingertips. But it was nothing, nothing, compared to the knowledge. She saw the universe, stars come to be and die again. She saw life, human, animal, and otherworldly, follow its cycle. Conceived, matured, decayed, in the space of milliseconds. More than that, she became it, all of it. She saw, and understood, and her skull seemed fit to burst with the scope of the information.

And across from her, showing her, the visitor. No longer a naked skeleton, its flesh translucent and glowing, its eyes gleaming black orbs. Its skin seemed to flow like water over its bones of crystal.

Natasha looked into those eyes, and she saw beyond our universe, beyond our reality, into the space between spaces. And beyond, into other, parallel worlds, with their own life, their own laws, their own gods. She saw it, and she was lost.

Natasha Lestrange was no more, she ceased to exist, nothing more than a memory, her weak mind sucked from her inadequate body, her minute consciousness and experience were absorbed into that of the visitors. The visitor left only an empty husk, useless. Her body was swallowed in a single jet of white flame, residual energy, the same energy that had been shared with the Ugha so long ago.

Satisfied, the reward fulfilled, the visitor retreated into the darkness. Home was waiting.

Harry watched, eyes wide, as Mundungus disappeared enveloped by darkness. The same gaping mouth sucked at him, it tore at his clothing, at his hair, an intense static thrumming ringing in his ears. But it wouldn't take him. He wouldn't let it. He was the chosen one, the boy who lived. And he was needed.

As the intense gravitational force tore at his flesh, Harry turned. Even as the stone beneath him was torn apart, he took a single step. And then another, and another, and then he was running. Out of its hold, out of the darkness, its grip on him broken.

Harry propelled himself, limbs pumping, out of the virtually non-existent treasure room. The water in the next chamber was rising, whipping around his ankles. The huge stone wheels, the turbines, were torn from their setting, and rolled, crushing through the stone pathway. Harry made no move to stop; he simply dodged in front of one of them, and slipped through a gap, as the second wheel crushed the floor behind him. And then he was running again.

He had outdistanced the vortex; it was still feeding on the temple behind him. Water trickled from the stone above him, running into his eyes.

Harry burst out into the main body of the pyramid, there waiting for him were Ginny, James, and Neville. "What'd I miss?" he asked, panting.

"We can't get up the pillar," said James.

"Then we'll just have to find another way out."

"I'm not sure that's an option."

"Is this Akator?" Neville questioned.

"Yeah," said Harry and James in unison.

"Brilliant, you found it," Neville clapped him on the back.

Ginny was looking past them, in the opposite direction from the vortex, and she was gaping. "Oh, damn," she said.

"What?"

"The dam," she pointed, "bloody thing must have broken." She pointed, and sure enough, a wave of rushing, roiling, water careened toward them, filling the whole passageway.

"Run?" asked Neville optimistically

"I think it's a bit late for that, actually," Harry answered. He had just enough time for a deep breath as the wave hit.


	21. Chapter 21: Journey's End

Chapter twenty-one: journey's end

It felt like being hit by a wall of concrete, except that concrete didn't swallow you up. The wave shoved Harry up, up the pyramid, and out the top. And then he lost his sense of direction entirely.

He already was straining for air, needing to fill his depleted lungs. It was like being under the last waterfall, except he had no idea what to do. There was no direction, no up and down. Only him and the crushing weight of millions of tons of water.

But still he fought; it was the principle of the thing. Stroke, kick, stroke, kick. He was going nowhere, perhaps even back down, but it didn't matter.

And then he was out, his head breaking the surface. Choking, purging the water from his lungs, he crawled up onto dry ground. Grass and dirt and trees, and sprawled across the ground a few yards away, Ginny Weasley. Her hair was slicked to her scalp, she was as wet as the water itself, and she was smiling.

"About time you showed up."

"I was busy."

"Give him a break," James sighed, from where he sat, leaning against a tree trunk.

"Looks like we're all here," Neville groaned, stumbling along the cliff face toward them. For that was what it was, the edge of the bowl. "Merlin's beard, Harry. You have the luck of the devil."

"Not all of us," said Harry, thinking of Mundungus.

"Look," James pointed. Harry looked back at Akator. Or what was left of it. The ruins had crumbled under the force of the water, buried beneath a roiling lake. He was just in time to see the remnants of the pyramid temple collapse in on itself, nothing more than rubble.

But from the ruins of the EL Dorado rose something all the more breathtaking. A perfectly rounded orb, rising from the water, untouched by it. Its surface was opaque and silver, catching the light, and seemed to flow like liquid. The orb hung there for a moment, and Harry felt a familiar buzzing at the base of his skull. And then it was gone, collapsing in on itself, imploding, until there was nothing left. No evidence of the visitors, of the lost city, of the birthplace of magic.

"They're gone," he said simply.

"Into space? Were they really aliens?" James questioned.

"In a way," said Neville. "They are transdimensional beings. Not form another world, but from another reality, another branch in the web of time and space."

"And we owe them everything," said Harry. "The visitors brought us magic made us wizards. Every one, pure-blood, half-blood, non-magical blood, is somehow descended from the Ugha, from their legacy." Once again he wasn't sure how he knew, he just knew.

"That's quite a legacy," said Neville, approvingly.

With a groan of exhaustion, Harry lay back on the soft ground. He glanced up at the others, saw how battered they were, still bleeding from countless scrapes and cuts. "I'd offer to heal you now, but I haven't got a wand."

"Just use that thing you did on the plant," James suggested.

Harry smiled, "Maybe later." He wasn't sure he would ever try to access that again. Raw magic was too powerful, to dangerous, a monster. Give him a good old stick of wood any day.

"Either way, that'll leave a nasty scar," Neville pointed at the bruise of James forehead, inflicted by Natasha back during the chase.

"It's not a bad place for a scar," said Harry, brightly.

"No," Ginny agreed, "it isn't." rolling next to him, she buried her head in his shoulder. "You're wet."

"Guilty as charged."

"So it's really over then?" James, asked, as Neville looked away discreetly. The boy scrutinized the ruins of the lost city, covered by the already calming water. This was his first time, Harry remembered.

"Yeah, I think so." He said. "But there'll always be some nutter like Voldemort or Dietrich or Natasha Lestrange. And do you know what else? I'll be there to stop them."

"No, you won't," said Ginny, her brown eyes burning into his with all the strength of the crystal skull, a corner of her mouth curling up in a smirk far more sinister than Natasha's. "We will."


End file.
